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

He found Ser Jacelyn on the ramparts, watching several hundred new recruits drilling in the field below. With so many seeking refuge in King?Ts Landing, there was no lack of men willing to join the City Watch for a full belly and a bed of straw in the barracks, but Tyrion had no illusions about how well these ragged defenders of theirs would fight if it came to battle.
?oYou did well to send for me,? Tyrion said. ?oI shall leave Ser Cleos in your hands. He is to have every hospitality.?
?oAnd his escort?? the commander wanted to know.
?oGive them food and clean garb, and find a maester to see to their hurts. They are not to set foot inside the city, is that understood?? It would never do to have the truth of con***ions in King?Ts Landing reach Robb Stark in Riverrun.
?oWell understood, my lord.?
?oOh, and one more thing. The alchemists will be sending a large supply of clay pots to each of the city gates. You?Tre to use them to train the men who will work your spitfires. Fill the pots with green paint and have them drill at loading and firing. Any man who spatters should be replaced. When they have mastered the paint pots, substitute lamp oil and have them work at lighting the jars and firing them while aflame. Once they learn to do that without burning themselves, they may be ready for wildfire.?
Ser Jacelyn scratched at his cheek with his iron hand. ?oWise measures. Though I have no love for that alchemist?Ts piss.?
?oNor I, but I use what I?Tm given.?
Once back inside his litter, Tyrion Lannister drew the curtains and plumped a cushion under his elbow. Cersei would be displeased to learn that he had intercepted Stark?Ts letter, but his father had sent him here to rule, not to please Cersei.
It seemed to him that Robb Stark had given them a golden chance. Let the boy wait at Riverrun dreaming of an easy peace. Tyrion would reply with terms of his own, giving the King in the North just enough of what he wanted to keep him hopeful. Let Ser Cleos wear out his bony Frey rump riding to and fro with offers and counters. All the while, their cousin Ser Stafford would be training and arming the new host hê?Td raised at Casterly Rock. Once he was ready, he and Lord Tywin could smash the Tullys and Starks between them.
Now if only Robert?Ts brothers would be so accommodating. Glacial as his progress was, still Renly Baratheon crept north and east with his huge southron host, and scarcely a night passed that Tyrion did not dread being awakened with the news that Lord Stannis was sailing his fleet up the Blackwater Rush. Well, it would seem I have a goodly stock of wildfire, but still...
The sound of some hubbub in the street intruded on his worries. Tyrion peered out cautiously between the curtains. They were passing through Cobbler?Ts Square, where a sizable crowd had gathered beneath the leather awnings to listen to the rantings of a prophet. A robe of undyed wool belted with a hempen rope marked him for one of the begging brothers.
?oCorruption!? the man cried shrilly. ?oThere is the warning! Behold the Father?Ts scourge!? He pointed at the fuzzy red wound in the sky. From this vantage, the distant castle on Aegon?Ts High Hill was directly behind him, with the comet hanging forebodingly over its towers. A clever choice of stage, Tyrion reflected. ?oWe have become swollen, bloated, foul. Brother couples with sister in the bed of kings, and the fruit of their incest capers in his palace to the piping of a twisted little monkey demon. Highborn ladies fornicate with fools and give birth to monsters! Even the High Septon has forgotten the gods! He bathes in scented waters and grows fat on lark and lamprey while his people starve! Pride comes before prayer, maggots rule our castles, and gold is all... but no more! The Rotten Summer is at an end, and the Whoremonger King is brought low! When the boar did open him, a great stench rose to heaven and a thousand snakes slid forth from his belly, hissing and biting!? He jabbed his bony finger back at comet and castle. ?oThere comes the Harbinger! Cleanse yourselves, the gods cry out, lest ye be cleansed! Bathe in the wine of righteousness, or you shall be bathed in fire! Fire!?
?oFire!? other voices echoed, but the hoots of derision almost drowned them out. Tyrion took solace from that. He gave the command to continue, and the litter rocked like a ship on a rough sea as the Burned Men cleared a path. Twisted little monkey demon indeed. The wretch did have a point about the High Septon, to be sure. What was it that Moon Boy had said of him the other day? A pious man who worships the Seven so fervently that he eats a meal for each of them whenever he sits to table. The memory of the fool?Ts jape made Tyrion smile.
He was pleased to reach the Red Keep without further incident. As he climbed the steps to his chambers, Tyrion felt a deal more hopeful than he had at dawn. Time, that?Ts all I truly need, time to piece it all together. Once the chain is done... He opened the door to his solar.
Cersei turned away from the window, her skirts swirling around her slender hips. ?oHow dare you ignore my summons!?
?oWho admitted you to my tower??
?oYour tower? This is my son?Ts royal castle.?
?oSo they tell me.? Tyrion was not amused. Crawn would be even less so; his Moon Brothers had the guard today. ?oI was about to come to you, as it happens.?
?oWere you??
He swung the door shut behind him. ?oYou doubt me??
?oAlways, and with good reason.?
?oI?Tm hurt.? Tyrion waddled to the sideboard for a cup of wine. He knew no surer way to work up a thirst than talking with Cersei. ?oIf I?Tve given you offense, I would know how.?
?oWhat a disgusting little worm you are. Myrcella is my only daughter. Did you truly imagine that I would allow you to sell her like a bag of oats? ?o
Myrcella, he thought. Well, that egg has hatched. Let?Ts see what color the chick is. ?oHardly a bag of oats. Myrcella is a princess. Some would say this is what she was born for. Or did you plan to marry her to Tommen??
Her hand lashed out, knocking the wine cup from his hand to spill on the floor. ?oBrother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey?Ts regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon.?
Tyrion shook wine off his fingers and sighed. ?oWhy not? Shê?Td be a deal safer in Dorne than she is here.?
?oAre you utterly ignorant or simply perverse? You know as well as I that the Martells have no cause to love us.?
?oThe Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to agree. Prince Doran?Ts grievance against House Lannister goes back only a generation, but the Dornishmen have warred against Storm?Ts End and Highgarden for a thousand years, and Renly has taken Dornê?Ts allegiance for granted. Myrcella is nine, Trystane Martell eleven. I have proposed they wed when she reaches her fourteenth year. Until such time, she would be an honored guest at Sunspear, under Prince Doran?Ts protection.?
?oA hostage,? Cersei said, mouth tightening.
?oAn honored guest,? Tyrion insisted, ?oand I suspect Martell will treat Myrcella more kindly than Joffrey has treated Sansa Stark. I had in mind to send Ser Arys Oakheart with her. With a knight of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield, no one is like to forget who or what she is.?
?oSmall good Ser Arys will do her if Doran Martell decides that my daughter?Ts death would wash out his sister?Ts.?
?oMartell is too honorable to murder a nine-year-old girl, particularly one as sweet and innocent as Myrcella. So long as he holds her he can be reasonably certain that wê?Tll keep faith on our side, and the terms are too rich to refuse. Myrcella is the least part of it. I?Tve also offered him his sister?Ts killer, a council seat, some castles on the Marches...?
?oToo much.? Cersei paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts swirling. ?oYou?Tve offered too much, and without my authority or consent.?
?oThis is the Prince of Dorne we are speaking of. If I?Td offered less, hê?Td likely spit in my face.?
?oToo much!? Cersei insisted, whirling back.
?oWhat would you have offered him, that hole between your legs?? Tyrion said, his own anger flaring.
This time he saw the slap coming. His head snapped around with a crack. ?oSweet sweet sister,? he said, ?oI promise you, that was the last time you will ever strike me.?
His sister laughed. ?oDon?Tt threaten me, little man. Do you think Father?Ts letter keeps you safe? A piece of paper. Eddard Stark had a piece of paper too, for all the good it did him.?
Eddard Stark did not have the City Watch, Tyrion thought, nor my clansmen, nor the sellswords that Bronn has hired. I do. Or so he hoped. Trusting in Varys, in Ser Jacelyn Bywater, in Bronn. Lord Stark had probably had his delusions as well.
Yet he said nothing. A wise man did not pour wildfire on a brazier. Instead he poured a fresh cup of wine. ?oHow safe do you think Myrcella will be if King?Ts Landing falls? Renly and Stannis will mount her head beside yours.?
And Cersei began to cry.
Tyrion Lannister could not have been more astonished if Aegon the Conqueror himself had burst into the room, riding on a dragon and juggling lemon pies. He had not seen his sister weep since they were children together at Casterly Rock. Awkwardly, he took a step toward her. When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her... but this was Cersei! He reached a tentative hand for her shoulder.
?oDon?Tt touch me,? she said, wrenching away. It should not have hurt, yet it did, more than any slap. Red-faced, as angry as she was grief stricken, Cersei struggled for breath. ?oDon?Tt look at me, not... not like this... not you.?
Politely, Tyrion turned his back. ?oI did not mean to frighten you. I promise you, nothing will happen to Myrcella.?
?oLiar,? she said behind him. ?oI?Tm not a child, to be soothed with empty promises. You told me you would free Jaime too. Well, where is he? ?o
?oIn Riverrun, I should imagine. Safe and under guard, until I find a way to free him.?
Cersei sniffed. ?oI should have been born a man. I would have no need of any of you then. None of this would have been allowed to happen. How could Jaime let himself be captured by that boy? And Father, I trusted in him, fool that I am, but where is he now that hê?Ts wanted? What is he doing??
?oMaking war.?
?oFrom behind the walls of Harrenhal?? she said scornfully. ?oA curious way of fighting. It looks suspiciously like hiding.?
?oLook again.?
?oWhat else would you call it? Father sits in one castle, and Robb Stark sits in another, and no one does anything.?
?oThere is sitting and there is sitting,? Tyrion suggested. ?oEach one waits for the other to move, but the lion is still, poised, his tail twitching, while the fawn is frozen by fear, bowels turned to jelly. No matter which way he bounds, the lion will have him, and he knows it.?
?oAnd you?Tre quite certain that Father is the lion??
Tyrion grinned. ?oIt?Ts on all our banners.?
She ignored the jest. ?oIf it was Father whô?Td been taken captive, Jaime would not be sitting by idly, I promise you.?
Jaime would be battering his host to bloody bits against the walls of Riverrun, and the Others take their chances. He never did have any patience, no more than you, sweet sister. ?oNot all of us can be as bold as Jaime, but there are other ways to win wars. Harrenhal is strong and well situated.?
?oAnd King?Ts Landing is not, as we both know perfectly well. While Father plays lion and fawn with the Stark boy, Renly marches up the roseroad. He could be at our gates any day now!?
?oThe city will not fall in a day. From Harrenhal it is a straight, swift march down the kingsroad. Renly will scarce have unlimbered his siege engines before Father takes him in the rear. His host will be the hammer, the city walls the anvil. It makes a lovely picture.?
Cersei?Ts green eyes bored into him, wary, yet hungry for the reassurance he was feeding her. ?oAnd if Robb Stark marches??
?oHarrenhal is close enough to the fords of the Trident so that Roose Bolton cannot bring the northern foot across to join with the Young Wolf?Ts horse. Stark cannot march on King?Ts Landing without taking Harrenhal first, and even with Bolton he is not strong enough to do that.? Tyrion tried his most winning smile. ?oMeanwhile Father lives off the fat of the riverlands, while our uncle Stafford gathers fresh levies at the Rock.?
Cersei regarded him suspiciously. ?oHow could you know all this? Did Father tell you his intentions when he sent you here??
?oNo. I glanced at a map.?
Her look turned to disdain. ?oYou?Tve conjured up every word of this in that grotesque head of yours, haven?Tt you, Imp??
Tyrion tsked. ?oSweet sister, I ask you, if we weren?Tt winning, would the Starks have sued for peace?? He drew out the letter that Ser Cleos Frey had brought. ?oThe Young Wolf has sent us terms, you see. Unacceptable terms, to be sure, but still, a beginning. Would you care to see them??
?oYes.? That fast, she was all queen again. ?oHow do you come to have them? They should have come to me.?
?oWhat else is a Hand for, if not to hand you things?? Tyrion handed her the letter. His cheek still throbbed where Cersei?Ts hand had left its mark. Let her flay half my face, it will be a small price to pay for her consent to the Dornish marriage. He would have that now, he could sense it.
And certain knowledge of an informer too... well, that was the plum in his pudding.
Được Pagan sửa chữa / chuyển vào 19:36 ngày 25/12/2007

Chapter 21
Bran​

Dancer was draped in bardings of snowy white wool emblazoned with the grey direwolf of House Stark, while Bran wore grey breeches and white doublet, his sleeves and collar trimmed with vair. Over his heart was his wolf?Ts-head brooch of silver and polished jet. He would sooner have had Summer than a silver wolf on his breast, but Ser Rodrik had been unyielding.
The low stone steps balked Dancer only for a moment. When Bran urged her on, she took them easily. Beyond the wide oak-and-iron doors, eight long rows of trestle tables filled Winterfell?Ts Great Hall, four on each side of the center aisle. Men crowded shoulder to shoulder on the benches. ?oStark!? they called as Bran trotted past, rising to their feet. ?oWinterfell! Winterfell!?
He was old enough to know that it was not truly him they shouted for - it was the harvest they cheered, it was Robb and his victories, it was his lord father and his grandfather and all the Starks going back eight thousand years. Still, it made him swell with pride. For so long as it took him to ride the length of that hall he forgot that he was broken. Yet when he reached the dais, with every eye upon him, Osha and Hodor undid his straps and buckles, lifted him off Dancer?Ts back, and carried him to the high seat of his fathers.
Ser Rodrik was seated to Bran?Ts left, his daughter Beth beside him. Rickon was to his right, his mop of shaggy auburn hair grown so long that it brushed his ermine mantle. He had refused to let anyone cut it since their mother had gone. The last girl to try had been bitten for her efforts. ?oI wanted to ride too,? he said as Hodor led Dancer away. ?oI ride better than you.?
?oYou don?Tt, so hush up,? he told his brother. Ser Rodrik bellowed for quiet. Bran raised his voice. He bid them welcome in the name of his brother, the King in the North, and asked them to thank the gods old and new for Robb?Ts victories and the bounty of the harvest. ?oMay there be a hundred more,? he finished, raising his father?Ts silver goblet.
?oA hundred more!? Pewter tankards, clay cups, and iron-banded drinking horns clashed together. Bran?Ts wine was sweetened with honey and fragrant with cinnamon and cloves, but stronger than he was used to. He could feel its hot snaky fingers wriggling through his chest as he swallowed. By the time he set down the goblet, his head was swimming.
?oYou did well, Bran,? Ser Rodrik told him. ?oLord Eddard would have been most proud.? Down the table, Maester Luwin nodded his agreement as the servers began to carry in the food.
Such food Bran had never seen; course after course after course, so much that he could not manage more than a bite or two of each dish. There were great joints of aurochs roasted with leeks, venison pies chunky with carrots, bacon, and mushrooms, mutton chops sauced in honey and cloves, savory duck, peppered boar, goose, skewers of pigeon and capon, beef-and-barley stew, cold fruit soup. Lord Wyman had brought twenty casks of fish from White Harbor packed in salt and seaweed; whitefish and winkles, crabs and mussels, clams, herring, cod, salmon, lobster and lampreys. There was black bread and honeycakes and oaten biscuits; there were turnips and pease and beets, beans and squash and huge red onions; there were baked apples and berry tarts and pears poached in strongwine. Wheels of white cheese were set at every table, above and below the salt, and flagons of hot spice wine and chilled autumn ale were passed up and down the tables.
Lord Wyman?Ts musicians played bravely and well, but harp and fiddle and horn were soon drowned beneath a tide of talk and laughter, the clash of cup and plate, and the snarling of hounds fighting for table scraps. The singer sang good songs, ?oIron Lances? and ?oThe Burning of the Ships? and ?oThe Bear and the Maiden Fair,? but only Hodor seemed to be listening. He stood beside the piper, hopping from one foot to the other.
The noise swelled to a steady rumbling roar, a great heady stew of sound. Ser Rodrik talked with Maester Luwin above Beth?Ts curly head, while Rickon screamed happily at the Walders. Bran had not wanted the Freys at the high table, but the maester reminded him that they would soon be kin. Robb was to marry one of their aunts, and Arya one of their uncles. ?oShe never will,? Bran said, ?onot Arya,? but Maester Luwin was unyielding, so there they were beside Rickon.
The serving men brought every dish to Bran first, that he might take the lord?Ts portion if he chose. By the time they reached the ducks, he could eat no more. After that he nodded approval at each course in turn, and waved it away. If the dish smelled especially choice, he would send it to one of the lords on the dais, a gesture of friendship and favor that Maester Luwin told him he must make. He sent some salmon down to poor sad Lady Hornwood, the boar to the boisterous Umbers, a dish of goose-in-berries to Cley Cerwyn, and a huge lobster to Joseth the master of horse, who was neither lord nor guest, but had seen to Dancer?Ts training and made it possible for Bran to ride. He sent sweets to Hodor and Old Nan as well, for no reason but he loved them. Ser Rodrik reminded him to send something to his foster brothers, so he sent Little Walder some boiled beets and Big Walder the buttered turnips.
On the benches below, Winterfell. Men mixed with smallfolk from the winter town, friends from the nearer holdfasts, and the escorts of their lordly guests. Some faces Bran had never seen before, others he knew as well as his own, yet they all seemed equally foreign to him. He watched them as from a distance, as if he still sat in the window of his bedchamber looking down on the yard below, seeing everything yet a part of nothing.
Osha moved among the tables, pouring ale. One of Leobald Tallhart?Ts men slid a hand up under her skirts and she broke the flagon over his head, to roars of laughter. Yet Mikken had his hand down some woman?Ts bodice, and she seemed not to mind. Bran watched Farlen make his red bitch beg for bones and smiled at Old Nan plucking at the crust of a hot pie with wrinkled fingers. On the dais, Lord Wyman attacked a steaming plate of lampreys as if they were an enemy host. He was so fat that Ser Rodrik had commanded that a special wide chair be built for him to sit in, but he laughed loud and often, and Bran thought he liked him. Poor wan Lady Hornwood sat beside him, her face a stony mask as she picked listlessly at her food. At the opposite end of the high table, Hothen and Mors were playing a drinking game, slamming their horns together as hard as knights meeting in joust.
It is too hot here, and too noisy, and they are all getting drunk. Bran itched under his grey and white woolens, and suddenly he wished he were anywhere but here. It is cool in the godswood now. Steam is rising off the hot pools, and the red leaves of the weirwood are rustling. The smells are richer than here, and before long the moon will rise and my brother will sing to it.
?oBran?? Ser Rodrik said. ?oYou do not eat.?
The waking dream had been so vivid, for a moment Bran had not known where he was. ?oI?Tll have more later,? he said. ?oMy belly?Ts full to bursting.?
The old knight?Ts white mustache was pink with wine. ?oYou have done well, Bran. Here, and at the audiences. You will be an especial fine lord one day, I think.?
I want to be a knight. Bran took another sip of the spiced honey wine from his father?Ts goblet, grateful for something to clutch. The lifelike head of a snarling direwolf was raised on the side of the cup. He felt the silver muzzle pressing against his palm, and remembered the last time he had seen his lord father drink from this goblet.
It had been the night of the welcoming feast, when King Robert had brought his court to Winterfell. Summer still reigned then. His parents had shared the dais with Robert and his queen, with her brothers beside her. Uncle Benjen had been there too, all in black. Bran and his brothers and sisters sat with the king?Ts children, Joffrey and Tommen and Princess Myrcella, whô?Td spent the whole meal gazing at Robb with adoring eyes. Arya made faces across the table when no one was looking; Sansa listened raptly while the king?Ts high harper sang songs of chivalry, and Rickon kept asking why Jon wasn?Tt with them. ?oBecause hê?Ts a bastard,? Bran finally had to whisper to him.
And now they are all gone. It was as if some cruel god had reached down with a great hand and swept them all away, the girls to captivity, Jon to the Wall, Robb and Mother to war, King Robert and Father to their graves, and perhaps Uncle Benjen as well...
Even down on the benches, there were new men at the tables. Jory was dead, and Fat Tom, and Porther, Alyn, Desmond, Hullen who had been master of horse, Harwin his son... all those who had gone south with his father, even Septa Mordane and Vayon Poole. The rest had ridden to war with Robb, and might soon be dead as well for all Bran knew. He liked Hayhead and Poxy Tym and Skittrick and the other new men well enough, but he missed his old friends.
He looked up and down the benches at all the faces happy and sad, and wondered who would be missing next year and the year after. He might have cried then, but he couldn?Tt. He was the Stark in Winterfell, his father?Ts son and his brother?Ts heir, and almost a man grown.

At the foot of the hall, the doors opened and a gust of cold air made the torches flame brighter for an instant. Alebelly led two new guests into the feast. ?oThe Lady Meera of House Reed,? the rotund guardsman bellowed over the clamor. ?oWith her brother, Jojen, of Greywater Watch.?
Men looked up from their cups and trenchers to eye the newcomers. Bran heard Little Walder mutter, ?oFrogeaters,? to Big Walder beside him. Ser Rodrik climbed to his feet. ?oBe welcome, friends, and share this harvest with us.? Serving men hurried to lengthen the table on the dais, fetching trestles and chairs.
?oWho are they?? Rickon asked.
?oMudmen,? answered Little Walder disdainfully. ?oThey?Tre thieves and cravens, and they have green teeth from eating frogs.?
Maester Luwin crouched beside Bran?Ts seat to whisper counsel in his ear. ?oYou must greet these ones warmly. I had not thought to see them here, but... you know who they are??
Bran nodded. ?oCrannogmen. From the Neck.?
?oHowland Reed was a great friend to your father,? Ser Rodrik told him. ?oThese two are his, it would seem.?
As the newcomers walked the length of the hall, Bran saw that one was indeed a girl, though he would never have known it by her dress. She wore lambskin breeches soft with long use, and a sleeveless jerkin armored in bronze scales. Though near Robb?Ts age, she was slim as a boy, with long brown hair knotted behind her head and only the barest suggestion of breasts. A woven net hung from one slim hip, a long bronze knife from the other; under her arm she carried an old iron greathelm spotted with rust; a frog spear and round leathern shield were strapped to her back.
Her brother was several years younger and bore no weapons. All his garb was green, even to the leather of his boots, and when he came closer Bran saw that his eyes were the color of moss, though his teeth looked as white as anyone elsê?Ts. Both Reeds were slight of build, slender as swords and scarcely taller than Bran himself. They went to one knee before the dais.
?oMy lords of Stark,? the girl said. ?oThe years have passed in their hundreds and their thousands since my folk first swore their fealty to the King in the North. My lord father has sent us here to say the words again, for all our people.?
She is looking at me, Bran realized. He had to make some answer. ?oMy brother Robb is fighting in the south,? he said, ?obut you can say your words to me, if you like.?
?oTo Winterfell we pledge the faith of Greywater,? they said together. ?oHearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you.?
?oI swear it by earth and water,? said the boy in green.
?oI swear it by bronze and iron,? his sister said.
?oWe swear it by ice and fire,? they finished together.
Bran groped for words. Was he supposed to swear something back to them? Their oath was not one he had been taught. ?oMay your winters be short and your summers bountiful,? he said. That was usually a good thing to say. ?oRise. I?Tm Brandon Stark.?
The girl, Meera, got to her feet and helped her brother up. The boy stared at Bran all the while. ?oWe bring you gifts of fish and frog and fowl,? he said.
?oI thank you.? Bran wondered if he would have to eat a frog to be polite. ?oI offer you the meat and mead of Winterfell.? He tried to recall all he had been taught of the crannogmen, who dwelt amongst the bogs of the Neck and seldom left their wetlands. They were a poor folk, fishers and frog-hunters who lived in houses of thatch and woven reeds on floating islands hidden in the deeps of the swamp. It was said that they were a cowardly people who fought with poisoned weapons and preferred to hide from foes rather than face them in open battle. And yet Howland Reed had been one of Father?Ts staunchest companions during the war for King Robert?Ts crown, before Bran was born.
The boy, Jojen, looked about the hall curiously as he took his seat. ?oWhere are the direwolves??
?oIn the godswood,? Rickon answered. ?oShaggy was bad.?
?oMy brother would like to see them,? the girl said.
Little Walder spoke up loudly. ?oHê?Td best watch they don?Tt see him, or they?Tll take a bite out of him.?
?oThey won?Tt bite if I?Tm there.? Bran was pleased that they wanted to see the wolves. ?oSummer won?Tt anyway, and hê?Tll keep Shaggydog away.? He was curious about these mudmen. He could not recall ever seeing one before. His father had sent letters to the Lord of Greywater over the years, but none of the crannogmen had ever called at Winterfell. He would have liked to talk to them more, but the Great Hall was so noisy that it was hard to hear anyone who wasn?Tt right beside you.
Ser Rodrik was right beside Bran. ?oDo they truly eat frogs?? he asked the old knight.
?oAye,? Ser Rodrik said. ?oFrogs and fish and lizard-lions, and all manner of birds.?
Maybe they don?Tt have sheep and cattle, Bran thought. He commanded the serving men to bring them mutton chops and a slice off the aurochs and fill their trenchers with beef-and-barley stew. They seemed to like that well enough. The girl caught him staring at her and smiled. Bran blushed and looked away.
Much later, after all the sweets had been served and washed down with gallons of summerwine, the food was cleared and the tables shoved back against the walls to make room for the dancing. The music grew wilder, the drummers joined in, and Hother Umber brought forth a huge curved warhorn banded in silver. When the singer reached the part in ?oThe Night That Ended? where the Night?Ts Watch rode forth to meet the Others in the Battle for the Dawn, he blew a blast that set all the dogs to barking.
Two Glover men began a spinning skirl on bladder and woodharp. Mors Umber was the first on his feet. He seized a passing serving girl by the arm, knocking the flagon of wine out of her hands to shatter on the floor. Amidst the rushes and bones and bits of bread that littered the stone, he whirled her and spun her and tossed her in the air. The girl squealed with laughter and turned red as her skirts swirled and lifted.
Others soon joined in. Hodor began to dance all by himself, while Lord Wyman asked little Beth Cassel to partner him. For all his size, he moved gracefully. When he tired, Cley Cerwyn danced with the child in his stead. Ser Rodrik approached Lady Hornwood, but she made her excuses and took her leave. Bran watched long enough to be polite, and then had Hodor summoned. He was hot and tired, flushed from the wine, and the dancing made him sad. It was something else he could never do. ?oI want to go.?
?oHodor,? Hodor shouted back, kneeling. Maester Luwin and Hayhead lifted him into his basket. The folk of Winterfell had seen this sight half a hundred times, but doubtless it looked queer to the guests, some of whom were more curious than polite. Bran felt the stares.
They went out the rear rather than walk the length of the hall, Bran ducking his head as they passed through the lord?Ts door. In the dim-lit gallery outside the Great Hall, they came upon Joseth the master of horse engaged in a different sort of riding. He had some woman Bran did not know shoved up against the wall, her skirts around her waist. She was giggling until Hodor stopped to watch. Then she screamed.
?oLeave them be, Hodor,? Bran had to tell him. ?oTake me to my bedchamber.?
Hodor carried him up the winding steps to his tower and knelt beside one of the iron bars that Mikken had driven into the wall. Bran used the bars to move himself to the bed, and Hodor pulled off his boots and breeches. ?oYou can go back to the feast now, but don?Tt go bothering Joseth and that woman,? Bran said.
?oHodor,? Hodor replied, bobbing his head.
When he blew out his bedside candle, darkness covered him like a soft, familiar blanket. The faint sound of music drifted through his shuttered window.
Something his father had told him once when he was little came back to him suddenly. He had asked Lord Eddard if the Kingsguard were truly the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. ?oNo longer,? he answered, ?obut once they were a marvel, a shining lesson to the world.?
?oWas there one who was best of all??
?oThe finest knight I ever saw was Ser Arthur Dayne, who fought with a blade called Dawn, forged from the heart of a fallen star. They called him the Sword of the Morning, and he would have killed me but for Howland Reed.? Father had gotten sad then, and he would say no more. Bran wished he had asked him what he meant.
He went to sleep with his head full of knights in gleaming armor, fighting with swords that shone like starfire, but when the dream came he was in the godswood again. The smells from the kitchen and the Great Hall were so strong that it was almost as if he had never left the feast. He prowled beneath the trees, his brother close behind him. This night was wildly alive, full of the howling of the man-pack at their play. The sounds made him restless. He wanted to run, to hunt, he wanted to...
The rattle of iron made his ears prick up. His brother heard it too. They raced through the undergrowth toward the sound. Bounding across the still water at the foot of the old white one, he caught the scent of a stranger, the mansmell well mixed with leather and earth and iron.
The intruders had pushed a few yards into the wood when he came upon them; a female and a young male, with no taint of fear to them, even when he showed them the white of his teeth. His brother growled low in his throat, yet still they did not run.
?oHere they come,? the female said. Meera, some part of him whispered, some wisp of the sleeping boy lost in the wolf dream. ?oDid you know they would be so big??
?oThey will be bigger still before they are grown,? the young male said, watching them with eyes large, green, and unafraid. ?oThe black one is full of fear and rage, but the grey is strong... stronger than he knows... can you feel him, sister??
?oNo,? she said, moving a hand to the hilt of the long brown knife she wore. ?oGo careful, Jojen.?
?oHe won?Tt hurt me. This is not the day I die.? The male walked toward them, unafraid, and reached out for his muzzle, a touch as light as a summer breeze. Yet at the brush of those fingers the wood dissolved and the very ground turned to smoke beneath his feet and swirled away laughing, and then he was spinning and falling, falling, falling...

Chapter 22
Catelyn​

As she slept amidst the rolling grasslands, Catelyn dreamt that Bran was whole again, that Arya and Sansa held hands, that Rickon was still a babe at her breast. Robb, crownless, played with a wooden sword, and when all were safe asleep, she found Ned in her bed, smiling.
Sweet it was, sweet and gone too soon. Dawn came cruel, a dagger of light. She woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of hurting, weary of duty. I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I?Tm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that?Ts all... a day... an hour...
Outside her tent, men were stirring. She heard the whicker of horses, Shadd complaining of stiffness in his back, Ser Wendel calling for his bow. Catelyn wished they would all go away. They were good men, loyal, yet she was tired of them all. It was her children she yearned after. One day, she promised herself as she lay abed, one day she would allow herself to be less than strong.
But not today. It could not be today.
Her fingers seemed more clumsy than usual as she fumbled on her clothes. She supposed she ought to be grateful that she had any use of her hands at all. The dagger had been Valyrian steel, and Valyrian steel bites deep and sharp. She had only to look at the scars to remember.
Outside, Shadd was stirring oats into a kettle, while Ser Wendel Manderly sat stringing his bow. ?oMy lady,? he said when Catelyn emerged. ?oThere are birds in this grass. Would you fancy a roast quail to break your fast this morning??
?oOats and bread are sufficient... for all of us, I think. We have many leagues yet to ride, Ser Wendel.?
?oAs you will, my lady.? The knight?Ts moon face looked crestfallen, the tips of his great walrus mustache twitching with disappointment. ?oOats and bread, and what could be better?? He was one of the fattest men Catelyn had ever known, but howevermuch he loved his food, he loved his honor more.
?oFound some nettles and brewed a tea,? Shadd announced. ?oWill m?Tlady take a cup??
?oYes, with thanks.?
She cradled the tea in her scarred hands and blew on it to cool it. Shadd was one of the Winterfell men. Robb had sent twenty of his best to see her safely to Renly. He had sent five lordlings as well, whose names and high birth would add weight and honor to her mission. As they made their way south, staying well clear of towns and holdfasts, they had seen bands of mailed men more than once, and glimpsed smoke on the eastern horizon, but none had dared molest them. They were too weak to be a threat, too many to be easy prey. Once across the Blackwater, the worst was behind. For the past four days, they had seen no signs of war.
Catelyn had never wanted this. She had told Robb as much, back in Riverrun. ?oWhen last I saw Renly, he was a boy no older than Bran. I do not know him. Send someone else. My place is here with my father, for whatever time he has left.?
Her son had looked at her unhappily. ?oThere is no one else. I cannot go myself. Your father?Ts too ill. The Blackfish is my eyes and ears, I dare not lose him. Your brother I need to hold Riverrun when we march-?
?oMarch?? No one had said a word to her of marching.
?oI cannot sit at Riverrun waiting for peace. It makes me look as if I were afraid to take the field again. When there are no battles to fight, men start to think of hearth and harvest, Father told me that. Even my northmen grow restless.?
My northmen, she thought. He is even starting to talk like a king. ?oNo one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another matter. Wê?Tve planted seeds, let them grow.?
Robb shook his head stubbornly. ?oWê?Tve tossed some seeds in the wind, that?Ts all. If your sister Lysa was coming to aid us, we would have heard by now. How many birds have we sent to the Eyrie, four? I want peace too, but why should the Lannisters give me anything if all I do is sit here while my army melts away around me swift as summer snow??
?oSo rather than look craven, you will dance to Lord Tywin?Ts pipes?? she threw back. ?oHe wants you to march on Harrenhal, ask your uncle Brynden if-?
?oI said nothing of Harrenhal,? Robb said. ?oNow, will you go to Renly for me, or must I send the Greatjon??
The memory brought a wan smile to her face. Such an obvious ploy, that, yet deft for a boy of fifteen. Robb knew how ill-suited a man like Greatjon Umber would be to treat with a man like Renly Baratheon, and he knew that she knew it as well. What could she do but accede, praying that her father would live until her return? Had Lord Hoster been well, he would have gone himself, she knew. Still, that leavetaking was hard, hard. He did not even know her when she came to say farewell. ?oMinisa,? he called her, ?owhere are the children? My little Cat, my sweet Lysa...? Catelyn had kissed him on the brow and told him his babes were well. ?oWait for me, my lord,? she said as his eyes closed. ?oI waited for you, oh, so many times. Now you must wait for me.?
Fate drives me south and south again, Catelyn thought as she sipped the astringent tea, when it is north I should be going, north to home. She had written to Bran and Rickon, that last night at Riverrun. I do not forget you, my sweet ones, you must believe that. It is only that your brother needs me more.
?oWe ought to reach the upper Mander today, my lady,? Ser Wendel announced while Shadd spooned out the porridge. ?oLord Renly will not be far, if the talk be true.?
And what do I tell him when I find him? That my son holds him no true king? She did not relish this meeting. They needed friends, not more enemies, yet Robb would never bend the knee in homage to a man he felt had no claim to the throne.
Her bowl was empty, though she could scarce remember tasting the porridge. She laid it aside. ?oIt is time we were away.? The sooner she spoke to Renly, the sooner she could turn for home. She was the first one mounted, and she set the pace for the column. Hal Mollen rode beside her, bearing the banner of House Stark, the grey direwolf on an ice-white field.
They were still a half day?Ts ride from Renly?Ts camp when they were taken. Robin Flint had ranged ahead to scout, and he came galloping back with word of a far-eyes watching from the roof of a distant windmill. By the time Catelyn?Ts party reached the mill, the man was long gone. They pressed on, covering not quite a mile before Renly?Ts outriders came swooping down on them, twenty men mailed and mounted, led by a grizzled greybeard of a knight with bluejays on his surcoat.
When he saw her banners, he trotted up to her alone. ?oMy lady,? he called, ?oI am Ser Colen of Greenpools, as it please you. These are dangerous lands you cross.?
?oOur business is urgent,? she answered him. ?oI come as envoy from my son, Robb Stark, the King in the North, to treat with Renly Baratheon, the King in the South.?
?oKing Renly is the crowned and anointed lord of all the Seven Kingdoms, my lady,? Ser Colen answered, though courteously enough. ?oHis Grace is encamped with his host near Bitterbridge, where the roseroad crosses the Mander. It shall be my great honor to escort you to him.? The knight raised a mailed hand, and his men formed a double column flanking Catelyn and her guard. Escort or captor? She wondered. There was nothing to be done but trust in Ser Colen?Ts honor, and Lord Renly?Ts.
They saw the smoke of the camp?Ts fires when they were still an hour from the river. Then the sound came drifting across farm and field and rolling plain, indistinct as the murmur of some distant sea, but swelling as they rode closer. By the time they caught sight of the Mander?Ts muddy waters glinting in the sun, they could make out the voices of men, the clatter of steel, the whinny of horses. Yet neither sound nor smoke prepared them for the host itself.
Thousands of cookfires filled the air with a pale smoky haze. The horse lines alone stretched out over leagues. A forest had surely been felled to make the tall staffs that held the banners. Great siege engines lined the grassy verge of the roseroad, mangonels and trebuchets and rolling rams mounted on wheels taller than a man on horseback. The steel points of pikes flamed red with sunlight, as if already blooded, while the pavilions of the knights and high lords sprouted from the grass like silken mushrooms. She saw men with spears and men with swords, men in steel caps and mail shirts, camp followers strutting their charms, archers fletching arrows, teamsters driving wagons, swineherds driving pigs, pages running messages, squires honing swords, knights riding palfreys, grooms leading ill-tempered destriers. ?oThis is a fearsome lot of men,? Ser Wendel Manderly observed as they crossed the ancient stone span from which Bitterbridge took its name.
?oThat it is,? Catelyn agreed.
Near all the chivalry of the south had come to Renly?Ts call, it seemed. The golden rose of Highgarden was seen everywhere: sewn on the right breast of armsmen and servants, flapping and fluttering from the green silk banners that adorned lance and pike, painted upon the shields hung outside the pavilions of the sons and brothers and cousins and uncles of House Tyrell. As well Catelyn spied the fox-and-flowers of House Florent, Fossoway apples red and green, Lord Tarly?Ts striding huntsman, oak leaves for Oakheart, cranes for Crane, a cloud of black-and-orange butterflies for the Mullendores.
Across the Mander, the storm lords had raised their standards Renly?Ts own bannermen, sworn to House Baratheon and Storm?Ts End. Catelyn recognized Bryce Caron?Ts nightingales, the Penrose quills, and Lord Estermont?Ts sea turtle, green on green. Yet for every shield she knew, there were a dozen strange to her, borne by the small lords sworn to the bannermen, and by hedge knights and freeriders, who had come swarming to make Renly Baratheon a king in fact as well as name.
Renly?Ts own standard flew high over all. From the top of his tallest siege tower, a wheeled oaken immensity covered with rawhides, streamed the largest war banner that Catelyn had ever seen-a cloth big enough to carpet many a hall, shimmering gold, with the crowned stag of Baratheon black upon it, prancing proud and tall.
?oMy lady, do you hear that noise?? asked Hallis Mollen, trotting close. ?oWhat is that??
She listened. Shouts, and horses screaming, and the clash of steel, and... ?oCheering,? she said. They had been riding up a gentle slope toward a line of brightly colored pavilions on the height. As they passed between them, the press of men grew thicker, the sounds louder. And then she saw.
Below, beneath the stone-and-timber battlements of a small castle, a melee was in progress.
A field had been cleared off, fences and galleries and tilting barriers thrown up. Hundreds were gathered to watch, perhaps thousands. From the looks of the grounds, torn and muddy and littered with bits of dinted armor and broken lances, they had been at it for a day or more, but now the end was near. Fewer than a score of knights remained ahorse, charging and slashing at each other as watchers and fallen combatants cheered them on. She saw two destriers collide in full armor, going down in a tangle of steel and horseflesh. ?oA tourney,? Hal Mollen declared. He had a penchant for loudly announcing the obvious.
?oOh, splendid,? Ser Wendel Manderly said as a knight in a rainbowstriped cloak wheeled to deliver a backhand blow with a long-handled axe that shattered the shield of the man pursuing him and sent him reeling in his stirrups.
The press in front of them made further progress difficult. ?oLady Stark,? Ser Colen said, ?oif your men would be so good as to wait here, I?Tll present you to the king.?
?oAs you say.? She gave the command, though she had to raise her voice to be heard above the tourney din. Ser Colen walked his horse slowly through the throngs, with Catelyn riding in his wake. A roar went up from the crowd as a helmetless red-bearded man with a griffin on his shield went down before a big knight in blue armor. His steel was a deep cobalt, even the blunt morningstar he wielded with such deadly effect, his mount barded in the quartered sun-and-moon heraldry of House Tarth.
?oRed Ronnet?Ts down, gods be damned,? a man cursed.
?oLoras?Tll do for that blue-? a companion answered before a roar drowned out the rest of his words.
Another man was fallen, trapped beneath his injured horse, both of them screaming in pain. Squires rushed out to aid them.
This is madness, Catelyn thought. Real enemies on every side and half the realm in flames, and Renly sits here playing at war like a boy with his first wooden sword.
The lords and ladies in the gallery were as engrossed in the melee as the men on the ground. Catelyn marked them well. Her father had oft treated with the southron lords, and not a few had been guests at Riverrun. She recognized Lord Mathis Rowan, stouter and more florid than ever, the golden tree of his House spread across his white doublet. Below him sat Lady Oakheart, tiny and delicate, and to her left Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill, his greatsword Heartsbane propped up against the back of his seat. Others she knew only by their sigils, and some not at all.
In their midst, watching and laughing with his young queen by his side, sat a ghost in a golden crown.
Small wonder the lords gather around him with such fervor, she thought, he is Robert come again. Renly was handsome as Robert had been handsome; long of limb and broad of shoulder, with the same coalblack hair, fine and straight, the same deep blue eyes, the same easy smile. The slender circlet around his brows seemed *****it him well. It was soft gold, a ring of roses exquisitely wrought; at the front lifted a stag?Ts head of dark green jade, adorned with golden eyes and golden antlers.
The crowned stag decorated the king?Ts green velvet tunic as well, worked in gold thread upon his chest; the Baratheon sigil in the colors of Highgarden. The girl who shared the high seat with him was also of Highgarden: his young queen, Margaery, daughter to Lord Mace Tyrell. Their marriage was the mortar that held the great southron alliance together, Catelyn knew. Renly was one-and-twenty, the girl no older than Robb, very pretty, with a doê?Ts soft eyes and a mane of curling brown hair that fell about her shoulders in lazy ringlets. Her smile was shy and sweet.
Out in the field, another man lost his seat to the knight in the rainbow-striped cloak, and the king shouted approval with the rest. ?oLoras!? she heard him call. ?oLoras! Highgarden!? The queen clapped her hands together in excitement.
Catelyn turned to see the end of it. Only four men were left in the fight now, and there was small doubt whom king and commons favored. She had never met Ser Loras Tyrell, but even in the distant north one heard tales of the prowess of the young Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras rode a tall white stallion in silver mail, and fought with a long-handled axe. A crest of golden roses ran down the center of his helm.
Two of the other survivors had made common cause. They spurred their mounts toward the knight in the cobalt armor. As they closed to either side, the blue knight reined hard, smashing one man full in the face with his splintered shield while his black destrier lashed out with a steel-shod hoof at the other. In a blink, one combatant was unhorsed, the other reeling. The blue knight let his broken shield drop to the ground to free his left arm, and then the Knight of Flowers was on him. The weight of his steel seemed to hardly diminish the grace and quickness with which Ser Loras moved, his rainbow cloak swirling about him.
The white horse and the black one wheeled like lovers at a harvest dance, the riders throwing steel in place of kisses. Longaxe flashed and morningstar whirled. Both weapons were blunted, yet still they raised an awful clangor. Shieldless, the blue knight was getting much the worse of it. Ser Loras rained down blows on his head and shoulders, to shouts of ?oHighgarden!? from the throng. The other gave answer with his morningstar, but whenever the ball came crashing in, Ser Loras interposed his battered green shield, emblazoned with three golden roses. When the longaxe caught the blue knight?Ts hand on the backswing and sent the morningstar flying from his grasp, the crowd screamed like a rutting beast. The Knight of Flowers raised his axe for the final blow.
The blue knight charged into it. The stallions slammed together, the blunted axehead smashed against the scarred blue breastplate... but somehow the blue knight had the haft locked between steel-gauntleted fingers. He wrenched it from Ser Loras?Ts hand, and suddenly the two were grappling mount-to-mount, and an instant later they were falling. As their horses pulled apart, they crashed to the ground with bone-jarring force. Loras Tyrell, on the bottom, took the brunt of the impact. The blue knight pulled a long dirk free and flicked open Tyrell?Ts visor. The roar of the crowd was too loud for Catelyn to hear what Ser Loras said, but she saw the word form on his split, bloody lips. Yield.
The blue knight climbed unsteady to his feet, and raised his dirk in the direction of Renly Baratheon, the salute of a champion to his king. Squires dashed onto the field to help the vanquished knight to his feet. When they got his helm off, Catelyn was startled to see how young he was. He could not have had more than two years on Robb. The boy might have been as comely as his sister, but the broken lip, unfocused eyes, and blood trickling through his matted hair made it hard to be certain.
?oApproach,? King Renly called to the champion.
He limped toward the gallery. At close hand, the brilliant blue armor looked rather less splendid; everywhere it showed scars, the dents of mace and warhammer, the long gouges left by swords, chips in the enameled breastplate and helm. His cloak hung in rags. From the way he moved, the man within was no less battered. A few voices hailed him with cries of ?oTarth!? and, oddly, ?oA Beauty! A Beauty!? but most were silent. The blue knight knelt before the king. ?oGrace,? he said, his voice muffled by his dented greathelm.
?oYou are all your lord father claimed you were.? Renly?Ts voice carried over the field. ?oI?Tve seen Ser Loras unhorsed once or twice... but never quite in that fashion.?
?oThat were no proper unhorsing,? complained a drunken archer nearby, a Tyrell rose sewn on his jerkin. ?oA vile trick, pulling the lad down.?
The press had begun to open up. ?oSer Colen,? Catelyn said to her escort, ?owho is this man, and why do they mislike him so??
Ser Colen frowned. ?oBecause he is no man, my lady. That?Ts Brienne of Tarth, daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar.?
?oDaughter?? Catelyn was horrified.
?oBrienne the Beauty, they name her... though not to her face, lest they be called upon to defend those words with their bodies.?

She heard King Renly declare the Lady Brienne of Tarth the victor of the great melee at Bitterbridge, last mounted of one hundred sixteen knights. ?oAs champion, you may ask of me any boon that you desire. If it lies in my power, it is yours.?
?oYour Grace,? Brienne answered, ?oI ask the honor of a place among your Rainbow Guard. I would be one of your seven, and pledge my life to yours, to go where you go, ride at your side, and keep you safe from all hurt and harm.?
?oDone,? he said. ?oRise, and remove your helm.?
She did as he bid her. And when the greathelm was lifted, Catelyn understood Ser Colen?Ts words.
Beauty, they called her... mocking. The hair beneath the visor was a squirrel?Ts nest of dirty straw, and her face... Briennê?Ts eyes were large and very blue, a young girl?Ts eyes, trusting and guileless, but the rest... her features were broad and coarse, her teeth prominent and crooked, her mouth too wide, her lips so plump they seemed swollen. A thousand freckles speckled her cheeks and brow, and her nose had been broken more than once. Pity filled Catelyn?Ts heart. Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman?
And yet, when Renly cut away her torn cloak and fastened a rainbow in its place, Brienne of Tarth did not look unfortunate. Her smile lit up her face, and her voice was strong and proud as she said, ?oMy life for yours, Your Grace. From this day on, I am your shield, I swear it by the old gods and the new.? The way she looked at the king - looked down at him, she was a good hand higher, though Renly was near as tall as his brother had been - was painful to see.
?oYour Grace!? Ser Colen of Greenpools swung down off his horse to approach the gallery. ?oI beg your leave.? He went to one knee. ?oI have the honor to bring you the Lady Catelyn Stark, sent as envoy by her son Robb, Lord of Winterfell.?
?oLord of Winterfell and King in the North, ser,? Catelyn corrected him. She dismounted and moved to Ser Colen?Ts side.
King Renly looked surprised. ?oLady Catelyn? We are most pleased.? He turned to his young queen. ?oMargaery my sweet, this is the Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell.?
?oYou are most welcome here, Lady Stark,? the girl said, all soft courtesy. ?oI am sorry for your loss.?
?oYou are kind,? said Catelyn.
?oMy lady, I swear to you, I will see that the Lannisters answer for your husband?Ts murder,? the king declared. ?oWhen I take King?Ts Landing, I?Tll send you Cersei?Ts head.?
And will that bring my Ned back to me? She thought. ?oIt will be enough to know that justice has been done, my lord.?
?oYour Grace,? Brienne the Blue corrected sharply. ?oAnd you should kneel when you approach the king.?
?oThe distance between a lord and a grace is a small one, my lady,? Catelyn said. ?oLord Renly wears a crown, as does my son. If you wish, we may stand here in the mud and debate what honors and titles are rightly due to each, but it strikes me that we have more pressing matters to consider.?
Some of Renly?Ts lords bristled at that, but the king only laughed. ?oWell said, my lady. There will be time enough for graces when these wars are done. Tell me, when does your son mean to march against Harrenhal? ?o
Until she knew whether this king was friend or foe, Catelyn was not about to reveal the least part of Robb?Ts dispositions. ?oI do not sit on my son?Ts war councils, my lord.?
?oSo long as he leaves a few Lannisters for me, I?Tll not complain. What has he done with the Kingslayer??
?oJaime Lannister is held prisoner at Riverrun.?
?oStill alive?? Lord Mathis Rowan seemed dismayed.
Bemused, Renly said, ?oIt would seem the direwolf is gentler than the lion.?
?oGentler than the Lannisters,? murmured Lady Oakheart with a bitter smile, ?ois drier than the sea.?
?oI call it weak.? Lord Randyll Tarly had a short, bristly grey beard and a reputation for blunt speech. ?oNo disrespect to you, Lady Stark, but it would have been more seemly had Lord Robb come to pay homage to the king himself, rather than hiding behind his mother?Ts skirts.?
?oKing Robb is warring, my lord,? Catelyn replied with icy courtesy, ?onot playing at tourney.?
Renly grinned. ?oGo softly, Lord Randyll, I fear you?Tre overmatched.? He summoned a steward in the livery of Storm?Ts End. ?oFind a place for the lady?Ts companions, and see that they have every comfort. Lady Catelyn shall have my own pavilion. Since Lord Caswell has been so kind as to give me use of his castle, I have no need of it. My lady, when you are rested, I would be honored if you would share our meat and mead at the feast Lord Caswell is giving us tonight. A farewell feast. I fear his lordship is eager to see the heels of my hungry horde.?
?oNot true, Your Grace,? protested a wispy young man who must have been Caswell. ?oWhat is mine is yours.?
?oWhenever someone said that to my brother Robert, he took them at their word,? Renly said. ?oDo you have daughters??
?oYes, Your Grace. Two.?
?oThen thank the gods that I am not Robert. My sweet queen is all the woman I desire.? Renly held out his hand to help Margaery to her feet. ?oWê?Tll talk again when you?Tve had a chance to refresh yourself, Lady Catelyn.?
Renly led his bride back toward the castle while his steward conducted Catelyn to the king?Ts green silk pavilion. ?oIf you have need of anything, you have only to ask, my lady.?
Catelyn could scarcely imagine what she might need that had not already been provided. The pavilion was larger than the common rooms of many an inn and furnished with every comfort: feather mattress and sleeping furs, a wood-and-copper tub large enough for two, braziers, to keep off the night?Ts chill, slung leather camp chairs, a writing table with quills and inkpot, bowls of peaches, plums, and pears, a flagon of wine with a set of matched silver cups, cedar chests packed full of Renly?Ts clothing, books, maps, game boards, a high harp, a tall bow and a quiver of arrows, a pair of red-tailed hunting hawks, a vertible armory of fine weapons. He does not stint himself, this Renly, she thought as she looked about. Small wonder this host moves so slowly.
Beside the entrance, the king?Ts armor stood sentry; a suit of forestgreen plate, its fittings chased with gold, the helm crowned by a great rack of golden antlers. The steel was polished *****ch a high sheen that she could see her reflection in the breastplate, gazing back at her as if from the bottom of a deep green pond. The face of a drowned woman, Catelyn thought. Can you drown in grief? She turned away sharply, angry with her own frailty. She had no time for the luxury of self-pity. She must wash the dust from her hair and change into a gown more fitting for a king?Ts feast.
Ser Wendel Manderly, Lucas Blackwood, Ser Perwyn Frey, and the rest of her highborn companions accompanied her to the castle. The great hall of Lord Caswell?Ts keep was great only by courtesy, yet room was found on the crowded benches for Catelyn?Ts men, amidst Renly?Ts own knights. Catelyn was assigned a place on the dais between red-faced Lord Mathis Rowan and genial Ser Jon Fossoway of the green-apple Fossoways. Ser Jon made jests, while Lord Mathis inquired politely after the health of her father, brother, and children.
Brienne of Tarth had been seated at the far end of the high table. She did not gown herself as a lady, but chose a knight?Ts finery instead, a velvet doublet quartered rose-and-azure, breeches and boots and a finetooled swordbelt, her new rainbow cloak flowing down her back. No garb could disguise her plainness, though; the huge freckled hands, the wide flat face, the thrust of her teeth. Out of armor, her body seemed ungainly, broad of hip and thick of limb, with hunched muscular shoulders but no bosom to speak of. And it was clear from her every action that Brienne knew it, and suffered for it. She spoke only in answer, and seldom lifted her gaze from her food.
Of food there was plenty. The war had not touched the fabled bounty of Highgarden. While singers sang and tumblers tumbled, they began with pears poached in wine, and went on to tiny savory fish rolled in salt and cooked crisp, and capons stuffed with onions and mushrooms. There were great loaves of brown bread, mounds of turnips and sweetcorn and pease, immense hams and roast geese and trenchers dripping full of venison stewed with beer and barley. For the sweet, Lord Caswell?Ts servants brought down trays of pastries from his castle kitchens, cream swans and spun-sugar unicorns, lemon cakes in the shape of roses, spiced honey biscuits and blackberry tarts, apple crisps and wheels of buttery cheese.
The rich foods made Catelyn queasy, but it would never do to show frailty when so much depended on her strength. She ate sparingly, while she watched this man who would be king. Renly sat with his young bride on his left hand and her brother on the right. Apart from the white linen bandage around his brow, Ser Loras seemed none the worse for the day?Ts misadventures. He was indeed as comely as Catelyn had suspected he might be. When not glazed, his eyes were lively and intelligent, his hair an artless tumble of brown locks that many a maid might have envied. He had replaced his tattered tourney cloak with a new one; the same brilliantly striped silk of Renly?Ts Rainbow Guard, clasped with the golden rose of Highgarden.
From time to time, King Renly would feed Margaery some choice morsel off the point of his dagger, or lean over to plant the lightest of kisses on her cheek, but it was Ser Loras who shared most of his jests and confidences. The king enjoyed his food and drink, that was plain to see, yet he seemed neither glutton nor drunkard. He laughed often, and well, and spoke amiably to highborn lords and lowly serving wenches alike.
Some of his guests were less moderate. They drank too much and boasted too loudly, to her mind. Lord Willum?Ts sons Josua and Elyas disputed heatedly about who would be first over the walls of King?Ts Landing. Lord Varner dandled a serving girl on his lap, nuzzling at her neck while one hand went exploring down her bodice. Guyard the Green, who fancied himself a singer, diddled a harp and gave them a verse about tying lions?T tails in knots, parts of which rhymed. Ser Mark Mullendore brought a black-and-white monkey and fed him morsels from his own plate, while Ser Tanton of the red-apple Fossoways climbed on the table and swore to slay Sandor Clegane in single combat. The vow might have been taken more solemnly if Ser Tanton had not had one foot in a gravy boat when he made it.
The height of folly was reached when a plump fool came capering out in gold-painted tin with a cloth lion?Ts head, and chased a dwarf around the tables, whacking him over the head with a bladder. Finally King Renly demanded to know why he was beating his brother. ?oWhy, Your Grace, I?Tm the Kinslayer,? the fool said.
?oIt?Ts Kingslayer, fool of a fool,? Renly said, and the hall rang with laughter.
Lord Rowan beside her did not join the merriment. ?oThey are all so young,? he said.
It was true. The Knight of Flowers could not have reached his second name day when Robert slew Prince Rhaegar on the Trident. Few of the others were very much older. They had been babes during the Sack of King?Ts Landing, and no more than boys when Balon Greyjoy raised the Iron Islands in rebellion. They are still unblooded, Catelyn thought as she watched Lord Bryce goad Ser Robar into juggling a brace of daggers. It is all a game to them still, a tourney writ large, and all they see is the chance for glory and honor and spoils. They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal.
?oWar will make them old,? Catelyn said, ?oas it did us.? She had been a girl when Robert and Ned and Jon Arryn raised their banners against Aerys Targaryen, a woman by the time the fighting was done. ?oI pity them.?
?oWhy?? Lord Rowan asked her. ?oLook at them. They?Tre young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity??
?oBecause it will not last,? Catelyn answered, sadly. ?oBecause they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming.?
?oLady Catelyn, you are wrong.? Brienne regarded her with eyes as blue as her armor. ?oWinter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it?Ts always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.?
Winter comes for all of us, Catelyn thought. For me, it came when Ned died. It will come for you too, child, and sooner than you like. She did not have the heart to say it.
The king saved her. ?oLady Catelyn,? Renly called down. ?oI feel the need of some air. Will you walk with me??
Catelyn stood at once. ?oI should be honored.?
Brienne was on her feet as well. ?oYour Grace, give me but a moment to don my mail. You should not be without protection.?
King Renly smiled. ?oIf I am not safe in the heart of Lord Caswell?Ts castle, with my own host around me, one sword will make no matter... not even your sword, Brienne. Sit and eat. If I have need of you, I?Tll send for you.?
His words seemed to strike the girl harder than any blow she had taken that afternoon. ?oAs you will, Your Grace.? Brienne sat, eyes downcast. Renly took Catelyn?Ts arm and led her from the hall, past a slouching guardsman who straightened so hurriedly that he near dropped his spear. Renly clapped the man on the shoulder and made a jest of it.
?oThis way, my lady.? The king took her through a low door into a stair tower. As they started up, he said, ?oPerchance, is Ser Barristan Selmy with your son at Riverrun??
?oNo,? she answered, puzzled. ?oIs he no longer with Joffrey? He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.?
Renly shook his head. ?oThe Lannisters told him he was too old and gave his cloak to the Hound. I?Tm told he left King?Ts Landing vowing to take up service with the true king. That cloak Brienne claimed today was the one I was keeping for Selmy, in hopes that he might offer me his sword. When he did not turn up at Highgarden, I thought perhaps he had gone to Riverrun instead.?
?oWe have not seen him.?
?oHe was old, yes, but a good man still. I hope he has not come to harm. The Lannisters are great fools.? They climbed a few more steps. ?oOn the night of Robert?Ts death, I offered your husband a hundred swords and urged him to take Joffrey into his power. Had he listened, he would be regent today, and there would have been no need for me to claim the throne.?
?oNed refused you.? She did not have to be told.
?oHe had sworn to protect Robert?Ts children,? Renly said. ?oI lacked the strength to act alone, so when Lord Eddard turned me away, I had no choice but to flee. Had I stayed, I knew the queen would see to it that I did not long outlive my brother.?
Had you stayed, and lent your support to Ned, he might still be alive, Catelyn thought bitterly.
?oI liked your husband well enough, my lady. He was a loyal friend to Robert, I know... but he would not listen and he would not bend. Here, I wish to show you something.? They had reached the top of the stairwell. Renly pushed open a wooden door, and they stepped out onto the roof.
Lord Caswell?Ts keep was scarcely tall enough to call a tower, but the country was low and flat and Catelyn could see for leagues in all directions. Wherever she looked, she saw fires. They covered the earth like fallen stars, and like the stars there was no end to them. ?oCount them if you like, my lady,? Renly said quietly. ?oYou will still be counting when dawn breaks in the east. How many fires burn around Riverrun tonight, I wonder??
Catelyn could hear faint music drifting from the Great Hall, seeping out into the night. She dare not count the stars.
?oI?Tm told your son crossed the Neck with twenty thousand swords at his back,? Renly went on. ?oNow that the lords of the Trident are with him, perhaps he commands forty thousand.?
No, she thought, not near so many, we have lost men in battle, and others to the harvest.
?oI have twice that number here,? Renly said, ?oand this is only part of my strength. Mace Tyrell remains at Highgarden with another ten thousand, I have a strong garrison holding Storm?Ts End, and soon enough the Dornishmen will join me with all their power. And never forget my brother Stannis, who holds Dragonstone and commands the lords of the narrow sea.?
?oIt would seem that you are the one who has forgotten Stannis,? Catelyn said, more sharply than shê?Td intended.
?oHis claim, you mean?? Renly laughed. ?oLet us be blunt, my lady. Stannis would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. Men respect Stannis, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him.?
?oHe is still your elder brother. If either of you can be said to have a right to the Iron Throne, it must be Lord Stannis.?
Renly shrugged. ?oTell me, what right did my brother Robert ever have to the Iron Throne?? He did not wait for an answer. ?oOh, there was talk of the blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen, of weddings a hundred years past, of second sons and elder daughters. No one but the maesters care about any of it. Robert won the throne with his warhammer.? He swept a hand across the campfires that burned from horizon to horizon. ?oWell, there is my claim, as good as Robert?Ts ever was. If your son supports me as his father supported Robert, hê?Tll not find me ungenerous. I will gladly confirm him in all his lands, titles, and honors. He can rule in Winterfell as he pleases. He can even go on calling himself King in the North if he likes, so long as he bends the knee and does me homage as his overlord. King is only a word, but fealty, loyalty, service... those I must have.?
?oAnd if he will not give them to you, my lord??
?oI mean to be king, my lady, and not of a broken kingdom. I cannot say it plainer than that. Three hundred years ago, a Stark king knelt to Aegon the Dragon, when he saw he could not hope to prevail. That was wisdom. Your son must be wise as well. Once he joins me, this war is good as done. We-? Renly broke off suddenly, distracted. ?oWhat?Ts this now??
The rattle of chains heralded the raising of the portcullis. Down in the yard below, a rider in a winged helm urged his well-lathered horse under the spikes. ?oSummon the king!? he called.
Renly vaulted up into a crenel. ?oI?Tm here, ser.?
?oYour Grace.? The rider spurred his mount closer. ?oI came swift as I could. From Storm?Ts End. We are besieged, Your Grace, Ser Cortnay defies them, but...?
?oBut... that?Ts not possible. I would have been told if Lord Tywin left Harrenhal.?
?oThese are no Lannisters, my liege. It?Ts Lord Stannis at your gates. King Stannis, he calls himself now.?

Chapter 23
Jon​

A blowing rain lashed at Jon?Ts face as he spurred his horse across the swollen stream. Beside him, Lord Commander Mormont gave the hood of his cloak a tug, muttering curses on the weather. His raven sat on his shoulder, feathers ruffled, as soaked and grumpy as the Old Bear himself. A gust of wind sent wet leaves flapping round them like a flock of dead birds. The haunted forest, Jon thought ruefully. The drowned forest, more like it.
He hoped Sam was holding up, back down the column. He was not a good rider even in fair weather, and six days of rain had made the ground treacherous, all soft mud and hidden rocks. When the wind blew, it drove the water right into their eyes. The Wall would be flowing off to the south, the melting ice mingling with warm rain to wash down in sheets and rivers. Pyp and Toad would be sitting near the fire in the common room, drinking cups of mulled wine before their supper. Jon envied them. His wet wool clung to him sodden and itching, his neck and shoulders ached fiercely from the weight of mail and sword, and he was sick of salt cod, salt beef, and hard cheese.
Up ahead a hunting horn sounded a quavering note, half drowned beneath the constant patter of the rain. ?oBuckwell?Ts horn,? the Old Bear announced. ?oThe gods are good; Craster?Ts still there.? His raven gave a single flap of his big wings, croaked ?oCorn,? and ruffled his feathers up again.
Jon had often heard the black brothers tell tales of Craster and his keep. Now he would see it with his own eyes. After seven empty villages, they had all come to dread finding Craster?Ts as dead and desolate as the rest, but it seemed they would be spared that. Perhaps the Old Bear will finally get some answers, he thought. Anyway, wê?Tll be out of the rain.
Thoren Smallwood swore that Craster was a friend to the Watch, despite his unsavory reputation. ?oThe man?Ts half-mad, I won?Tt deny it,? hê?Td told the Old Bear, ?obut you?Td be the same if you?Td spent your life in this cursed wood. Even so, hê?Ts never turned a ranger away from his fire, nor does he love Mance Rayder. Hê?Tll give us good counsel.?
So long as he gives us a hot meal and a chance to dry our clothes, I?Tll be happy. Dywen said Craster was a kinslayer, liar, raper, and craven, and hinted that he trafficked with slavers and demons. ?oAnd worse,? the old forester would add, clacking his wooden teeth. ?oTherê?Ts a cold smell to that one, there is.?
?oJon,? Lord Mormont commanded, ?oride back along the column and spread the word. And remind the officers that I want no trouble about Craster?Ts wives. The men are to mind their hands and speak to these women as little as need be.?
?oAye, my lord.? Jon turned his horse back the way they?Td come. It was pleasant to have the rain out of his face, if only for a little while. Everyone he passed seemed to be weeping. The march was strung out through half a mile of woods.
In the midst of the baggage train, Jon passed Samwell Tarly, slumped in his saddle under a wide floppy hat. He was riding one dray horse and leading the others. The drumming of the rain against the hoods of their cages had the ravens squawking and fluttering. ?oYou put a fox in with them?? Jon called out.
Water ran off the brim of Sam?Ts hat as he lifted his head. ?oOh, hullo, Jon. No, they just hate the rain, the same as us.?
?oHow are you faring, Sam??
?oWetly.? The fat boy managed a smile. ?oNothing has killed me yet, though.?
?oGood. Craster?Ts Keep is just ahead. If the gods are good, hê?Tll let us sleep by his fire.?
Sam looked dubious. ?oDolorous Edd says Craster?Ts a terrible savage. He marries his daughters and obeys no laws but those he makes himself. And Dywen told Grenn hê?Ts got black blood in his veins. His mother was a wildling woman who lay with a ranger, so hê?Ts a bas...? Suddenly he realized what he was about to say.
?oA bastard,? Jon said with a laugh. ?oYou can say it, Sam. I?Tve heard the word before.? He put the spurs to his surefooted little garron. ?oI need to hunt down Ser Ottyn. Be careful around Craster?Ts women.? As if Samwell Tarly needed warning on that score. ?oWê?Tll talk later, after wê?Tve made camp.?
Jon carried the word back to Ser Ottyn Wythers, plodding along with the rear guard. A small prune-faced man of an age with Mormont, Ser Ottyn always looked tired, even at Castle Black, and the rain had beaten him down unmercifully. ?oWelcome tidings,? he said. ?oThis wet has soaked my bones, and even my saddle sores complain of saddle sores.?
On his way back, Jon swung wide of the column?Ts line of march and took a shorter path through the thick of the wood. The sounds of man and horse diminished, swallowed up by the wet green wild, and soon enough he could hear only the steady wash of rain against leaf and tree and rock. It was midafternoon, yet the forest seemed as dark as dusk. Jon wove a path between rocks and puddles, past great oaks, grey-green sentinels, and black-barked ironwoods. In places the branches wove a canopy overhead and he was given a moment?Ts respite from the drumming of the rain against his head. As he rode past a lightning-blasted chestnut tree overgrown with wild white roses, he heard something rustling in the underbrush. ?oGhost,? he called out. ?oGhost, to me.?
But it was Dywen who emerged from the greenery, forking a shaggy grey garron with Grenn ahorse beside him. The Old Bear had deployed outriders to either side of the main column, to screen their march and warn of the approach of any enemies, and even there he took no chances, sending the men out in pairs.
?oAh, it?Ts you, Lord Snow.? Dywen smiled an oaken smile; his teeth were carved of wood, and fit badly. ?oThought me and the boy had us one ô?T them Others to deal with. Lose your wolf??
?oHê?Ts off hunting.? Ghost did not like to travel with the column, but he would not be far. When they made camp for the night, hê?Td find his way to Jon at the Lord Commander?Ts tent.
?oFishing, I?Td call it, in this wet,? Dywen said.
?oMy mother always said rain was good for growing crops,? Grenn put in hopefully.
?oAye, a good crop of mildew,? Dywen said. ?oThe best thing about a rain like this, it saves a man from taking baths.? He made a clacking sound on his wooden teeth.
?oBuckwell?Ts found Craster,? Jon told them.
?oHad he lost him?? Dywen chuckled. ?oSee that you young bucks don?Tt go nosing about Craster?Ts wives, you hear??
Jon smiled. ?oWant them all for yourself, Dywen??
Dywen clacked his teeth some more. ?oMight be I do. Craster?Ts got ten fingers and one ****, so he don?Tt count but to eleven. Hê?Td never miss a couple.?
?oHow many wives does he have, truly?? Grenn asked.
?oMorê?Tn you ever will, brother. Well, it?Ts not so hard when you breed your own. Therê?Ts your beast, Snow.?
Ghost was trotting along beside Jon?Ts horse with tail held high, his white fur ruffed up thick against the rain. He moved so silently Jon could not have said just when he appeared. Grenn?Ts mount shied at the scent of him; even now, after more than a year, the horses were uneasy in the presence of the direwolf. ?oWith me, Ghost.? Jon spurred off to Craster?Ts Keep.
He had never thought to find a stone castle on the far side of the Wall, but he had pictured some sort of motte-and-bailey with a wooden palisade and a timber tower keep. What they found instead was a midden heap, a pigsty, an empty sheepfold, and a windowless daub-and-wattle hall scarce worthy of the name. It was long and low, chinked together from logs and roofed with sod. The compound stood atop a rise too modest to name a hill, surrounded by an earthen dike. Brown rivulets flowed down the slope where the rain had eaten gaping holes in the defenses, to join a rushing brook that curved around to the north, its thick waters turned into a murky torrent by the rains.
On the southwest, he found an open gate flanked by a pair of animal skulls on high poles: a bear to one side, a ram to the other. Bits of flesh still clung to the bear skull, Jon noted as he joined the line riding past. Within, Jarmen Buckwell?Ts scouts and men from Thoren Smallwood?Ts van were setting up horse lines and struggling to raise tents. A host of piglets rooted about three huge sows in the sty. Nearby, a small girl pulled carrots from a garden, naked in the rain, while two women tied a pig for slaughter. The animal?Ts squeals were high and horrible, almost human in their distress. Chett?Ts hounds barked wildly in answer, snarling and snapping despite his curses, with a pair of Craster?Ts dogs barking back. When they saw Ghost, some of the dogs broke off and ran, while others began to bay and growl. The direwolf ignored them, as did Jon.
Well, thirty of us will be warm and dry, Jon thought once hê?Td gotten a good look at the hall. Perhaps as many as fifty. The place was much too small to sleep two hundred men, so most would need to remain outside. And where to put them? The rain had turned half the compound yard to ankle-deep puddles and the rest *****cking mud. Another dismal night was in prospect.
The Lord Commander had entrusted his mount to Dolorous Edd. He was cleaning mud out of the horsê?Ts hooves as Jon dismounted. ?oLord Mormont?Ts in the hall,? he announced. ?oHe said for you to join him. Best leave the wolf outside, he looks hungry enough to eat one of Craster?Ts children. Well, truth be told, I?Tm hungry enough to eat one of Craster?Ts children, so long as he was served hot. Go on, I?Tll see to your horse. If it?Ts warm and dry inside, don?Tt tell me, I wasn?Tt asked in.? He flicked a glob of wet mud out from under a horseshoe. ?oDoes this mud look like **** to you? Could it be that this whole hill is made of Craster?Ts ****??
Jon smiled. ?oWell, I hear hê?Ts been here a long time,?
?oYou cheer me not. Go see the Old Bear.?
?oGhost, stay,? he commanded. The door to Craster?Ts Keep was made of two flaps of deerhide. Jon shoved between them, stooping to pass under the low lintel. Two dozen of the chief rangers had preceded him, and were standing around the firepit in the center of the dirt floor while puddles collected about their boots. The hall stank of soot, dung, and wet dog. The air was heavy with smoke, yet somehow still damp. Rain leaked through the smoke hole in the roof. It was all a single room, with a sleeping loft above reached by a pair of splintery ladders.
Jon remembered how hê?Td felt the day they had left the Wall: nervous as a maiden, but eager to glimpse the mysteries and wonders beyond each new horizon. Well, herê?Ts one of the wonders, he told himself, gazing about the squalid, foul-smelling hall. The acrid smoke was making his eyes water. A pity that Pyp and Toad can?Tt see all they?Tre missing.
Craster sat above the fire, the only man to enjoy his own chair. Even Lord Commander Mormont must seat himself on the common bench, with his raven muttering on his shoulder. Jarman Buckwell stood behind, dripping from patched mail and shiny wet leather, beside Thoren Smallwood in the late Ser Jaremy?Ts heavy breastplate and sable-trimmed cloak.
Craster?Ts sheepskin jerkin and cloak of sewn skins made a shabby contrast, but around one thick wrist was a heavy ring that had the glint of gold. He looked to be a powerful man, though well into the winter of his days now, his mane of hair grey going to white. A flat nose and a drooping mouth gave him a cruel look, and one of his ears was missing. So this is a wildling. Jon remembered Old Nan?Ts tales of the savage folk who drank blood from human skulls. Craster seemed to be drinking a thin yellow beer from a chipped stone cup. Perhaps he had not heard the stories.
?oI?Tve not seen Benjen Stark for three years,? he was telling Mormont. ?oAnd if truth be told, I never once missed him.? A half-dozen black puppies and the odd pig or two skulked among the benches, while women in ragged deerskins passed horns of beer, stirred the fire, and chopped carrots and onions into a kettle.
?oHe ought to have passed here last year,? said Thoren Smallwood. A dog came sniffing round his leg. He kicked it and sent it off yipping.
Lord Mormont said, ?oBen was searching for Ser Waymar Royce, whô?Td vanished with Gared and young Will.?
?oAye, those three I recall. The lordling no older than one of these pups. Too proud to sleep under my roof, him in his sable cloak and black steel. My wives give him big cow eyes all the same.? He turned his squint on the nearest of the women. ?oGared says they were chasing raiders. I told him, with a commander that green, best not catch ?~em. Gared wasn?Tt half-bad, for a crow. Had less ears than me, that one. The ?~bite took ?~em, same as mine.? Craster laughed. ?oNow I hear he got no head neither. The ?~bite do that too??
Jon remembered a spray of red blood on white snow, and the way Theon Greyjoy had kicked the dead man?Ts head. The man was a deserter. On the way back to Winterfell, Jon and Robb had raced, and found six direwolf pups in the snow. A thousand years ago.
?oWhen Ser Waymar left you, where was he bound??
Craster gave a shrug. ?oHappens I have better things to do than tend to the comings and goings of crows.? He drank a pull of beer and set the cup aside. ?oHad no good southron wine up here for a bear?Ts night. I could use me some wine, and a new axe. Minê?Ts lost its bite, can?Tt have that, I got me women to protect.? He gazed around at his scurrying wives.
?oYou are few here, and isolated,? Mormont said. ?oIf you like, I?Tll detail some men to escort you south to the Wall.?
The raven seemed to like the notion. ?oWall,? it screamed, spreading black wings like a high collar behind Mormont?Ts head.
Their host gave a nasty smile, showing a mouthful of broken brown teeth. ?oAnd what would we do there, serve you at supper? Wê?Tre free folk here. Craster serves no man.?
?oThese are bad times to dwell alone in the wild. The cold winds are rising.?
?oLet them rise. My roots are sunk deep.? Craster grabbed a passing woman by the wrist. ?oTell him, wife. Tell the Lord Crow how well content we are.?
The woman licked at thin lips. ?oThis is our place. Craster keeps us safe. Better to die free than live a slave.?
?oSlave,? muttered the raven.
Mormont leaned forward. ?oEvery village we have passed has been abandoned. Yours are the first living faces wê?Tve seen since we left the Wall. The people are gone... whether dead, fled, or taken, I could not say. The animals as well. Nothing is left. And earlier, we found the bodies of two of Ben Stark?Ts rangers only a few leagues from the Wall. They were pale and cold, with black hands and black feet and wounds that did not bleed. Yet when we took them back to Castle Black they rose in the night and killed. One slew Ser Jaremy Rykker and the other came for me, which tells me that they remember some of what they knew when they lived, but there was no human mercy left in them.?
The woman?Ts mouth hung open, a wet pink ****, but Craster only gave a snort. ?oWê?Tve had no such troubles here... and I?Tll thank you not to tell such evil tales under my roof. I?Tm a godly man, and the gods keep me safe. If wights come walking, I?Tll know how to send them back to their graves. Though I could use me a sharp new axe.? He sent his wife scurrying with a slap on her leg and a shout of ?oMore beer, and be quick about it.?
?oNo trouble from the dead,? Jarmen Buckwell said, ?obut what of the living, my lord? What of your king??
?oKing!? cried Mormont?Ts raven. ?oKing, king, king.?
?oThat Mance Rayder?? Craster spit into the fire. ?oKing-beyond-the-Wall. What do free folk want with kings?? He turned his squint on Mormont. ?oTherê?Ts much I could tell you ô?T Rayder and his doings, if I had a mind. This ô?T the empty villages, that?Ts his work. You would have found this hall abandoned as well, if I were a man to scrape *****ch. He sends a rider, tells me I must leave my own keep to come grovel at his feet. I sent the man back, but kept his tongue. It?Ts nailed to that wall there.? He pointed. ?oMight be that I could tell you where to seek Mance Rayder. If I had a mind.? The brown smile again. ?oBut wê?Tll have time enough for that. You?Tll be wanting to sleep beneath my roof, belike, and eat me out of pigs.?
?oA roof would be most welcome, my lord,? Mormont said. ?oWê?Tve had hard riding, and too much wet.?
?oThen you?Tll guest here for a night. No longer, I?Tm not that fond ô?T crows. The loft?Ts for me and mine, but you?Tll have all the floor you like. I?Tve meat and beer for twenty, no more. The rest ô?T your black crows can peck after their own corn.?
?oWê?Tve packed in our own supplies, my lord,? said the Old Bear. ?oWe should be pleased to share our food and wine.?
Craster wiped his drooping mouth with the back of a hairy hand. ?oI?Tll taste your wine, Lord Crow, that I will. One more thing. Any man lays a hand on my wives, he loses the hand.?
?oYour roof, your rule,? said Thoren Smallwood, and Lord Mormont nodded stiffly, though he looked none too pleased.
?oThat?Ts settled, then.? Craster grudged them a grunt. ?oD?Tya have a man can draw a map??
?oSam Tarly can.? Jon pushed forward. ?oSam loves maps.?
Mormont beckoned him closer. ?oSend him here after hê?Ts eaten. Have him bring quill and parchment. And find Tollett as well. Tell him to bring my axe. A guest gift for our host.?
?oWhô?Ts this one now?? Craster said before Jon could go. ?oHe has the look of a Stark.?
?oMy steward and squire, Jon Snow.?
?oA bastard, is it?? Craster looked Jon up and down. ?oMan wants to bed a woman, seems like he ought to take her to wife. That?Ts what I do.? He shooed Jon off with a wave. ?oWell, run and do your service, bastard, and see that axe is good and sharp now, I?Tve no use for dull steel.?

Jon Snow bowed stiffly and took his leave. Ser Ottyn Wythers was coming in as he was leaving, and they almost collided at the deerhide door. Outside, the rain seemed to have slackened. Tents had gone up all over the compound. Jon could see the tops of others under the trees.
Dolorous Edd was feeding the horses. ?oGive the wildling an axe, why not?? He pointed out Mormont?Ts weapon, a shorthafted battle-axe with gold scrollwork inlaid on the black steel blade. ?oHê?Tll give it back, I vow. Buried in the Old Bear?Ts skull, like as not. Why not give him all our axes, and our swords as well? I mislike the way they clank and rattle as we ride. Wê?Td travel faster without them, straight to hell?Ts door. Does it rain in hell, I wonder? Perhaps Craster would like a nice hat instead.?
Jon smiled. ?oHe wants an axe. And wine as well.?
?oSee, the Old Bear?Ts clever. If we get the wildling well and truly drunk, perhaps hê?Tll only cut off an ear when he tries to slay us with that axe. I have two ears but only one head.?
?oSmallwood says Craster is a friend to the Watch.?
?oDo you know the difference between a wildling whô?Ts a friend to the Watch and one whô?Ts not?? asked the dour squire. ?oOur enemies leave our bodies for the crows and the wolves. Our friends bury us in secret graves. I wonder how long that bear?Ts been nailed up on that gate, and what Craster had there before we came hallooing?? Edd looked at the axe doubtfully, the rain running down his long face. ?oIs it dry in there??
?oDrier than out here.?
?oIf I lurk about after, not too close to the fire, belike they?Tll take no note of me till morn. The ones under his roof will be the first he murders, but at least wê?Tll die dry.?
Jon had to laugh. ?oCraster?Ts one man. Wê?Tre two hundred. I doubt hê?Tll murder anyone.?
?oYou cheer me,? said Edd, sounding utterly morose. ?oAnd besides, therê?Ts much to be said for a good sharp axe. I?Td hate to be murdered with a maul. I saw a man hit in the brow with a maul once. Scarce split the skin at all, but his head turned mushy and swelled up big as a gourd, only purply-red. A comely man, but he died ugly. It?Ts good that wê?Tre not giving them mauls.? Edd walked away shaking his head, his sodden black cloak shedding rain behind him.
Jon got the horses fed before he stopped to think of his own supper. He was wondering where to find Sam when he heard a shout of fear. ?oWolf!? He sprinted around the hall toward the cry, the earth sucking at his boots. One of Craster?Ts women was backed up against the mud-spattered wall of the keep. ?oKeep away,? she was shouting at Ghost. ?oYou keep away! ?o The direwolf had a rabbit in his mouth and another dead and bloody on the ground before him. ?oGet it away, m?Tlord,? she pleaded when she saw him.
?oHe won?Tt hurt you.? He knew at once what had happened; a wooden hutch, its slats shattered, lay on its side in the wet grass. ?oHe must have been hungry. We haven?Tt seen much game.? Jon whistled. The direwolf bolted down the rabbit, crunching the small bones between his teeth, and padded over to him.
The woman regarded them with nervous eyes. She was younger than hê?Td thought at first. A girl of fifteen or sixteen years, he judged, dark hair plastered across a gaunt face by the falling rain, her bare feet muddy to the ankles. The body under the sewn skins was showing in the early turns of pregnancy. ?oAre you one of Craster?Ts daughters?? he asked.
She put a hand over her belly. ?oWife now.? Edging away from the wolf, she knelt mournfully beside the broken hutch. ?oI was going to breed them rabbits. Therê?Ts no sheep left.?
?oThe Watch will make good for them.? Jon had no coin of his own, or he would have offered it to her... though he was not sure what good a few coppers or even a silver piece would do her beyond the Wall. ?oI?Tll speak to Lord Mormont on the morrow.?
She wiped her hands on her skirt. ?oM?Tlord-?
?oI?Tm no lord.?
But others had come crowding round, drawn by the woman?Ts scream and the crash of the rabbit hutch. ?oDon?Tt you believe him, girl,? called out Lark the Sisterman, a ranger mean as a cur. ?oThat?Ts Lord Snow himself.?
?oBastard of Winterfell and brother to kings,? mocked Chett, whô?Td left his hounds to see what the commotion was about.
?oThat wolf?Ts looking at you hungry, girl,? Lark said. ?oMight be it fancies that tender bit in your belly.?
Jon was not amused. ?oYou?Tre scaring her.?
?oWarning her, more like.? Chett?Ts grin was as ugly as the boils that covered most of his face.
?oWê?Tre not to talk to you,? the girl remembered suddenly.
?oWait,? Jon said, too late. She bolted, ran.
Lark made a grab for the second rabbit, but Ghost was quicker. When he bared his teeth, the Sisterman slipped in the mud and went down on his bony butt. The others laughed. The direwolf took the rabbit in his mouth and brought it to Jon.
?oThere was no call to scare the girl,? he told them.
?oWê?Tll hear no scolds from you, bastard.? Chett blamed Jon for the loss of his comfortable position with Maester Aemon, and not without justice. If he had not gone to Aemon about Sam Tarly, Chett would still be tending an old blind man instead of a pack of ill-tempered hunting hounds. ?oYou may be the Lord Commander?Ts pet, but you?Tre not the Lord Commander... and you wouldn?Tt talk so bloody bold without that monster of yours always about.?
?oI?Tll not fight a brother while wê?Tre beyond the Wall,? Jon answered, his voice cooler than he felt.
Lark got to one knee. ?oHê?Ts afraid of you, Chett. On the Sisters, we have a name for them like him.?
?oI know all the names. Save your breath.? He walked away, Ghost at his side. The rain had dwindled to a thin drizzle by the time he reached the gate. Dusk would be on them soon, followed by another wet dark dismal night. The clouds would hide moon and stars and Mormont?Ts Torch, turning the woods black as pitch. Every piss would be an adventure, if not quite of the sort Jon Snow had once envisioned.
Out under the trees, some rangers had found enough duff and dry wood to start a fire beneath a slanting ridge of slate. Others had raised tents or made rude shelters by stretching their cloaks over low branches. Giant had crammed himself inside the hollow of a dead oak. ?oHow dye like my castle, Lord Snow??
?oIt looks snug. You know where Sam is??
?oKeep on the way you were. If you come on Ser Ottyn?Ts pavilion, you?Tve gone too far.? Giant smiled. ?oUnless Sam?Ts found him a tree too. What a tree that would be.?
It was Ghost who found Sam in the end. The direwolf shot ahead like a quarrel from a crossbow. Under an outcrop of rock that gave some small degree of shelter from the rain, Sam was feeding the ravens. His boots squished when he moved. ?oMy feet are soaked through,? he admitted miserably. ?oWhen I climbed off my horse, I stepped in a hole and went in up to my knees.?
?oTake off your boots and dry your stockings. I?Tll find some dry wood. If the ground?Ts not wet under the rock, we might be able to get a fire burning.? Jon showed Sam the rabbit. ?oAnd wê?Tll feast.?
?oWon?Tt you be attending Lord Mormont in the hall??
?oNo, but you will. The Old Bear wants you to map for him. Craster says hê?Tll find Mance Rayder for us.?
?oOh.? Sam did not look anxious to meet Craster, even if it meant a warm fire.
?oHe said eat first, though. Dry your feet.? Jon went to gather fuel, digging down under deadfalls for the drier wood beneath and peeling back layers of sodden pine needles until he found likely kindling. Even then, it seemed to take forever for a spark to catch. He hung his cloak from the rock to keep the rain off his smoky little fire, making them a small snug alcove.
As he knelt to skin the rabbit, Sam pulled off his boots. ?oI think therê?Ts moss growing between my toes,? he declared mournfully, wriggling the toes in question. ?oThe rabbit will taste good. I don?Tt even mind about the blood and all.? He looked away. ?oWell, only a little...?
Jon spitted the carcass, banked the fire with a pair of rocks, and balanced their meal atop them. The rabbit had been a scrawny thing, but as it cooked it smelled like a king?Ts feast. Other rangers gave them envious looks. Even Ghost looked up hungrily, flames shining in his red eyes as he sniffed. ?oYou had yours before,? Jon reminded him.
?oIs Craster as savage as the rangers say?? Sam asked. The rabbit was a shade underdone, but tasted wonderful. ?oWhat?Ts his castle like??
?oA midden heap with a roof and a firepit.? Jon told Sam what he had seen and heard in Craster?Ts Keep.
By the time the telling was done, it was dark outside and Sam was licking his fingers. ?oThat was good, but now I?Td like a leg of lamb. A whole leg, just for me, sauced with mint and honey and cloves. Did you see any lambs??
?oThere was a sheepfold, but no sheep.?
?oHow does he feed all his men??
?oI didn?Tt see any men. Just Craster and his women and a few small girls. I wonder hê?Ts able to hold the place. His defenses were nothing to speak of, only a muddy dike. You had better go up to the hall and draw that map. Can you find the way??
?oIf I don?Tt fall in the mud.? Sam struggled back into his boots, collected quill and parchment, and shouldered out into the night, the rain pattering down on his cloak and floppy hat.
Ghost laid his head on his paws and went to sleep by the fire. Jon stretched out beside him, grateful for the warmth. He was cold and wet, but not so cold and wet as hê?Td been a short time before. Perhaps tonight the Old Bear will learn something that will lead us to Uncle Benjen.

He woke to the sight of his own breath misting in the cold morning air. When he moved, his bones ached. Ghost was gone, the fire burnt out. Jon reached to pull aside the cloak hê?Td hung over the rock, and found it stiff and frozen. He crept beneath it and stood up in a forest turned to crystal.
The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.
So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because hê?Td dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.
?oLord Snow?? he heard. Soft and meek. He turned.
Crouched atop the rock that had sheltered him during the night was the rabbit keeper, wrapped in a black cloak so large it drowned her. Sam?Ts cloak, Jon realized at once. Why is she wearing Sam?Ts cloak? ?oThe fat one told me I?Td find you here, m?Tlord,? she said.
?oWe ate the rabbit, if that?Ts what you came for.? The admission made him feel absurdly guilty.
?oOld Lord Crow, him with the talking bird, he gave Craster a crossbow worth a hundred rabbits.? Her arms closed over the swell of her belly. ?oIs it true, m?Tlord? Are you brother to a king??
?oA half brother,? he admitted. ?oI?Tm Ned Stark?Ts bastard. My brother Robb is the King in the North. Why are you here??
?oThe fat one, that Sam, he said to see you. He give me his cloak, so no one would say I didn?Tt belong.?
?oWon?Tt Craster be angry with you??
?oMy father drank overmuch of the Lord Crow?Ts wine last night. Hê?Tll sleep most of the day.? Her breath frosted the air in small nervous puffs. ?oThey say the king gives justice and protects the weak.? She started to climb off the rock, awkwardly, but the ice had made it slippery and her foot went out from under her. Jon caught her before she could fall, and helped her safely down. The woman knelt on the icy ground. ?oM?Tlord, I beg you-?
?oDon?Tt beg me anything. Go back to your hall, you shouldn?Tt be here. We were commanded not to speak to Craster?Ts women.?
?oYou don?Tt have to speak with me, m?Tlord. Just take me with you, when you go, that?Ts all I ask.?
All she asks, he thought. As if that were nothing.
?oI?Tll... I?Tll be your wife, if you like. My father, hê?Ts got nineteen now, one less won?Tt hurt him none.?
?oBlack brothers are sworn never to take wives, don?Tt you know that? And wê?Tre guests in your father?Ts hall besides.?
?oNot you,? she said. ?oI watched. You never ate at his board, nor slept by his fire. He never gave you guest-right, so you?Tre not bound to him. It?Ts for the baby I have to go.?
?oI don?Tt even know your name.?
?oGilly, he called me. For the gillyflower.?
?oThat?Ts pretty.? He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. ?oIs it Craster who frightens you, Gilly??
?oFor the baby, not for me. If it?Ts a girl, that?Ts not so bad, shê?Tll grow a few years and hê?Tll marry her. But Nella says it?Ts to be a boy, and shê?Ts had six and knows these things. He gives the boys to the gods. Come the white cold, he does, and of late it comes more often. That?Ts why he started giving them sheep, even though he has a taste for mutton. Only now the sheep?Ts gone too. Next it will be dogs, till...? She lowered her eyes and stroked her belly.
?oWhat gods?? Jon was remembering that they?Td seen no boys in Craster?Ts Keep, nor men either, save Craster himself.
?oThe cold gods,? she said. ?oThe ones in the night. The white shadows.?
And suddenly Jon was back in the Lord Commander?Ts Tower again. A severed hand was climbing his calf and when he pried it off with the point of his longsword, it lay writhing, fingers opening and closing. The dead man rose to his feet, blue eyes shining in that gashed and swollen face. Ropes of torn flesh hung from the great wound in his belly, yet there was no blood.
?oWhat color are their eyes?? he asked her.
?oBlue. As bright as blue stars, and as cold.?
She has seen them, he thought. Craster lied.
?oWill you take me? Just so far as the Wall-?
?oWe do not ride for the Wall. We ride north, after Mance Rayder and these Others, these white shadows and their wights. We seek them, Gilly. Your babe would not be safe with us.?
Her fear was plain on her face. ?oYou will come back, though. When your warring?Ts done, you?Tll pass this way again.?
?oWe may.? If any of us still live. ?oThat?Ts for the Old Bear to say, the one you call the Lord Crow. I?Tm only his squire. I do not choose the road I ride.?
?oNo.? He could hear the defeat in her voice. ?oSorry to be of trouble, m?Tlord. I only... they said the king keeps people safe, and I thought...? Despairing, she ran, Sam?Ts cloak flapping behind her like great black wings.
Jon watched her go, his joy in the morning?Ts brittle beauty gone. Damn her, he thought resentfully, and damn Sam twice for sending her to me. What did he think I could do for her? Wê?Tre here to fight wildlings, not save them.
Other men were crawling from their shelters, yawning and stretching. The magic was already faded, icy brightness turning back to common dew in the light of the rising sun. Someone had gotten a fire started; he could smell woodsmoke drifting through the trees, and the smoky scent of bacon. Jon took down his cloak and snapped it against the rock, shattering the thin crust of ice that had formed in the night, then gathered up Longclaw and shrugged an arm through a shoulder strap. A few yards away he made water into a frozen bush, his piss steaming in the cold air and melting the ice wherever it fell. Afterward he laced up his black wool breeches and followed the smells.
Grenn and Dywen were among the brothers who had gathered round the fire. Hake handed Jon a hollow heel of bread filled with burnt bacon and chunks of salt fish warmed in bacon grease. He wolfed it down while listening to Dywen boast of having three of Craster?Ts women during the night.
?oYou did not,? Grenn said, scowling. ?oI would have seen.?
Dywen whapped him up alongside his ear with the back of his hand. ?oYou? Seen? You?Tre blind as Maester Aemon. You never even saw that bear.?
?oWhat bear? Was there a bear??
?oTherê?Ts always a bear,? declared Dolorous Edd in his usual tone of gloomy resignation. ?oOne killed my brother when I was young. Afterward it wore his teeth around its neck on a leather thong. And they were good teeth too, better than mine. I?Tve had nothing but trouble with my teeth.?
?oDid Sam sleep in the hall last night?? Jon asked him.
?oI?Td not call it sleeping. The ground was hard, the rushes ill-smelling, and my brothers snore frightfully. Speak of bears if you will, none ever growled so fierce as Brown Bernarr. I was warm, though. Some dogs crawled atop me during the night. My cloak was almost dry when one of them pissed in it. Or perhaps it was Brown Bernarr. Have you noticed that the rain stopped the instant I had a roof above me? It will start again now that I?Tm back out. Gods and dogs alike delight to piss on me.?
?oI?Td best go see to Lord Mormont,? said Jon.
The rain might have stopped, but the compound was still a morass of shallow lakes and slippery mud. Black brothers were folding their tents, feeding their horses, and chewing on strips of salt beef. Jarman Buckwell?Ts scouts were tightening the girths on their saddles before setting out. ?oJon,? Buckwell greeted him from horseback. ?oKeep a good edge on that bastard sword of yours. Wê?Tll be needing it soon enough.?
Craster?Ts hall was dim after daylight. Inside, the night?Ts torches had burned low, and it was hard to know that the sun had risen. Lord Mormont?Ts raven was the first to spy him enter. Three lazy flaps of its great black wings, and it perched atop Longclaw?Ts hilt. ?oCorn?? It nipped at a strand of Jon?Ts hair.
?oIgnore that wretched beggar bird, Jon, it?Ts just had half my bacon.? The Old Bear sat at Craster?Ts board, breaking his fast with the other officers on fried bread, bacon, and sheepgut sausage. Craster?Ts new axe was on the table its gold inlay gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Its owner was sprawled unconscious in the sleeping loft above, but the women were all up, moving about and serving. ?oWhat sort of day do we have??
?oCold, but the rain has stopped.?
?oVery good. See that my horse is saddled and ready. I mean for us to ride within the hour. Have you eaten? Craster serves plain fare, but filling.?
I will not eat Graster?Ts food, he decided suddenly. ?oI broke my fast with the men, my lord.? Jon shooed the raven off Longclaw. The bird hopped back to Mormont?Ts shoulder, where it promptly shat. ?oYou might have done that on Snow instead of saving it for me,? the Old Bear grumbled. The raven quorked.
He found Sam behind the hall, standing with Gilly at the broken rabbit hutch. She was helping him back into his cloak, but when she saw Jon she stole away. Sam gave him a look of wounded reproach. ?oI thought you would help her.?
?oAnd how was I to do that?? Jon said sharply. ?oTake her with us, wrapped up in your cloak? We were commanded not to-?
?oI know,? said Sam guiltily, ?obut she was afraid. I know what it is to be afraid. I told her...? He swallowed.
?oWhat? That wê?Td take her with us??
Sam?Ts fat face blushed a deep red. ?oOn the way home.? He could not meet Jon?Ts eyes. ?oShê?Ts going to have a baby.?
?oSam, have you taken leave of all your sense? We may not even return this way. And if we do, do you think the Old Bear is going to let you pack off one of Craster?Ts wives??
?oI thought... maybe by then I could think of a way...?
?oI have no time for this, I have horses to groom and saddle.? Jon walked away as confused as he was angry. Sam?Ts heart was a big as the rest of him, but for all his reading he could be as thick as Grenn at times. It was impossible, and dishonorable besides. So why do I feel so ashamed?
Jon took his accustomed position at Mormont?Ts side as the Night?Ts Watch streamed out past the skulls on Craster?Ts gate. They struck off north and west along a crooked game trail. Melting ice dripped down all about them, a slower sort of rain with its own soft music. North of the compound, the brook was in full spate, choked with leaves and bits of wood, but the scouts had found where the ford lay and the column was able to splash across. The water ran as high as a horsê?Ts belly. Ghost swam, emerging on the bank with his white fur dripping brown. When he shook, spraying mud and water in all directions, Mormont said nothing, but on his shoulder the raven screeched.
?oMy lord,? Jon said quietly as the wood closed in around them once more. ?oCraster has no sheep. Nor any sons.?
Mormont made no answer.
?oAt Winterfell one of the serving women told us stories,? Jon went on. ?oShe used to say that there were wildlings who would lay with the Others to birth half-human children.?
?oHearth tales. Does Craster seem less than human to you??
In half a hundred ways. ?oHe gives his sons to the wood.?
A long silence. Then: ?oYes.? And ?oYes,? the raven muttered, strutting. ?oYes, yes, yes.?
?oYou knew??
?oSmallwood told me. Long ago. All the rangers know, though few will talk of it.?
?oDid my uncle know??
?oAll the rangers,? Mormont repeated. ?oYou think I ought to stop him. Kill him if need be.? The Old Bear sighed. ?oWere it only that he wished to rid himself of some mouths, I?Td gladly send Yoren or Conwys to collect the boys. We could raise them to the black and the Watch would be that much the stronger. But the wildlings serve crueler gods than you or I. These boys are Craster?Ts offerings. His prayers, if you will.?
His wives must offer different prayers, Jon thought.
?oHow is it you came to know this?? the Old Bear asked him. ?oFrom one of Craster?Ts wives??
?oYes, my lord,? Jon confessed. ?oI would sooner not tell you which. She was frightened and wanted help.?
?oThe wide world is full of people wanting help, Jon. Would that some could find the courage to help themselves. Craster sprawls in his loft even now, stinking of wine and lost to sense. On his board below lies a sharp new axe. Were it me, I?Td name it ?~Answered Prayer?T and make an end.?
Yes. Jon thought of Gilly. She and her sisters. They were nineteen, and Craster was one, but...
?oYet it would be an ill day for us if Craster died. Your uncle could tell you of the times Craster?Ts Keep made the difference between life and death for our rangers.?
?oMy father...? He hesitated.
?oGo on, Jon. Say what you would say.?
?oMy father once told me that some men are not worth having,? Jon finished. ?oA bannerman who is brutal or unjust dishonors his liege lord as well as himself.?
?oCraster is his own man. He has sworn us no vows. Nor is he subject to our laws. Your heart is noble, Jon, but learn a lesson here. We cannot set the world to rights. That is not our purpose. The Night?Ts Watch has other wars to fight.?
Other wars. Yes. I must remember. ?oJarman Buckwell said I might have need of my sword soon.?
?oDid he?? Mormont did not seem pleased. ?oCraster said much and more last night, and confirmed enough of my fears to condemn me to a sleepless night on his floor. Mance Rayder is gathering his people together in the Frostfangs. That?Ts why the villages are empty. It is the same tale that Ser Denys Mallister had from the wildling his men captured in the Gorge, but Craster has added the where, and that makes all the difference.?
?oIs he making a city, or an army??
?oNow, that is the question. How many wildlings are there? How many men of fighting age? No one knows with certainty. The Frostfangs are cruel, inhospitable, a wilderness of stone and ice. They will not long sustain any great number of people. I can see only one purpose in this gathering. Mance Rayder means to strike south, into the Seven Kingdoms.?
?oWildlings have invaded the realm before.? Jon had heard the tales from Old Nan and Maester Luwin both, back at Winterfell. ?oRaymun Redbeard led them south in the time of my grandfather?Ts grandfather, and before him there was a king named Bael the Bard.?
?oAye, and long before them came the Horned Lord and the brother kings Gendel and Gorne, and in ancient days Joramun, who blew the Horn of Winter and woke giants from the earth. Each man of them broke his strength on the Wall, or was broken by the power of Winterfell on the far side... but the Night?Ts Watch is only a shadow of what we were, and who remains to oppose the wildlings besides us? The Lord of Winterfell is dead, and his heir has marched his strength south to fight the Lannisters. The wildlings may never again have such a chance as this. I knew Mance Rayder, Jon. He is an oathbreaker, yes... but he has eyes to see, and no man has ever dared to name him faintheart.?
?oWhat will we do?? asked Jon.
?oFind him,? said Mormont. ?oFight him. Stop him.?
Three hundred, thought Jon, against the fury of the wild. His fingers opened and closed.

Chapter 24
Theon​

She was undeniably a beauty. But your first is always beautiful, Theon Greyjoy thought.
?oNow therê?Ts a pretty grin,? a woman?Ts voice said behind him. ?oThe lordling likes the look of her, does he??
Theon turned to give her an appraising glance. He liked what he saw. Ironborn, he knew at a glance; lean and longlegged, with black hair cut short, wind-chafed skin, strong sure hands, a dirk at her belt. Her nose was too big and too sharp for her thin face, but her smile made up for it. He judged her a few years older than he was, but no more than five-and-twenty. She moved as if she were used to a deck beneath her feet.
?oYes, shê?Ts a sweet sight,? he told her, ?othough not half so sweet as you.?
?oOho.? She grinned. ?oI?Td best be careful. This lordling has a honeyed tongue.?
?oTaste it and see.?
?oIs it that way, then?? she said, eyeing him boldly. There were women on the iron Islands-not many, but a few-who crewed the longships along with their men, and it was said that salt and sea changed them, gave them a man?Ts appetites. ?oHave you been that long at sea, lordling? Or were there no women where you came from??
?oWomen enough, but none like you.?
?oAnd how would you know what I?Tm like??
?oMy eyes can see your face. My ears can hear your laughter. And my ****?Ts gone hard as a mast for you.?
The woman stepped close and pressed a hand to the front of his breeches. ?oWell, you?Tre no liar,? she said, giving him a squeeze through the cloth. ?oHow bad does it hurt??
?oFiercely.?
?oPoor lordling.? She released him and stepped back. ?oAs it happens, I?Tm a woman wed, and new with child.?
?oThe gods are good,? Theon said. ?oNo chance I?Td give you a bastard that way.?
?oEven so, my man wouldn?Tt thank you.?
?oNo, but you might.?
?oAnd why would that be? I?Tve had lords before. They?Tre made the same as other men.?
?oHave you ever had a prince?? he asked her. ?oWhen you?Tre wrinkled and grey and your teats hang past your belly, you can tell your children?Ts children that once you loved a king.?
?oOh, is it love wê?Tre talking now? And here I thought it was just ****s and ****s.?
?oIs it love you fancy?? Hê?Td decided that he liked this wench, whoever she was; her sharp wit was a welcome respite from the damp gloom of Pyke. ?oShall I name my longship after you, and play you the high harp, and keep you in a tower room in my castle with only jewels to wear, like a princess in a song??
?oYou ought to name your ship after me,? she said, ignoring all the rest. ?oIt was me who built her.?
?oSigrin built her. My lord father?Ts shipwright.?
?oI?Tm Esgred. Ambrodê?Ts daughter, and wife to Sigrin.?
He had not known that Ambrode had a daughter, or Sigrin a wife... but hê?Td met the younger shipwright only once, and the older one he scarce remembered. ?oYou?Tre wasted on Sigrin.?
?oOho. Sigrin told me this sweet ship is wasted on you.?
Theon bristled. ?oDo you know who I am??
?oPrince Theon of House Greyjoy. Who else? Tell me true, my lord, how well do you love her, this new maid of yours? Sigrin will want to know.?
The longship was so new that she still smelled of pitch and resin. His uncle Aeron would bless her on the morrow, but Theon had ridden over from Pyke to get a look at her before she was launched. She was not so large as Lord Balon?Ts own Great Kraken or his uncle Victarion?Ts Iron Victory, but she looked swift and sweet, even sitting in her wooden cradle on the strand; lean black hull a hundred feet long, a single tall mast, fifty long oars, deck enough for a hundred men... and at the prow, the great iron ram in the shape of an arrowhead. ?oSigrin did me good service,? he admitted. ?oIs she as fast as she looks??
?oFaster-for a master that knows how to handle her.?
?oIt has been a few years since I sailed a ship.? And I?Tve never captained one, if truth be told. ?oStill, I?Tm a Greyjoy, and an ironman. The sea is in my blood.?
?oAnd your blood will be in the sea, if you sail the way you talk,? she told him.
?oI would never mistreat such a fair maiden.?
?oFair maiden?? She laughed. ?oShê?Ts a sea bitch, this one.?
?oThere, and now you?Tve named her. Sea Bitch.?
That amused her; he could see the sparkle in her dark eyes. ?oAnd you said you?Td name her after me,? she said in a voice of wounded reproach.
?oI did.? He caught her hand. ?oHelp me, my lady. In the green lands, they believe a woman with child means good fortune for any man who beds her.?
?oAnd what would they know about ships in the green lands? Or women, for that matter? Besides, I think you made that up.?
?oIf I confess, will you still love me??
?oStill? When have I ever loved you??
?oNever,? he admitted, ?obut I am trying to repair that lack, my sweet Esgred. The wind is cold. Come aboard my ship and let me warm you. On the morrow my uncle Aeron will pour seawater over her prow and mumble a prayer to the Drowned God, but I?Td sooner bless her with the milk of my loins, and yours.?
?oThe Drowned God might not take that kindly.?
?oBugger the Drowned God. If he troubles us, I?Tll drown him again. Wê?Tre off to war within a fortnight. Would you send me into battle all sleepless with longing??
?oGladly.?
?oA cruel maid. My ship is well named. If I steer her onto the rocks in my distraction, you?Tll have yourself to blame.?
?oDo you plan to steer with this?? Esgred brushed the front of his breeches once more, and smiled as a finger traced the iron outline of his manhood.
?oCome back to Pyke with me,? he said suddenly, thinking, What will Lord Balon say? And why should I care? I am a man grown, if I want to bring a wench to bed it is no onê?Ts business but my own.
?oAnd what would I do in Pyke?? Her hand stayed where it was.
?oMy father will feast his captains tonight.? He had them to feast every night, while he waited for the last stragglers to arrive, but Theon saw no need to tell all that.
?oWould you make me your captain for the night, my lord prince?? She had the wickedest smile hê?Td ever seen on a woman.
?oI might. If I knew you?Td steer me safe into port.?
?oWell, I know which end of the oar goes in the sea, and therê?Ts no one better with ropes and knots.? One-handed, she undid the lacing of his breeches, then grinned and stepped lightly away from him. ?oA pity I?Tm a woman wed, and new with child.?
Flustered, Theon laced himself back up. ?oI need to start back to the castle. If you do not come with me, I may lose my way for grief, and all the islands would be poorer.?
?oWe couldn?Tt have that... but I have no horse, my lord.?
?oYou could take my squirê?Ts mount.?
?oAnd leave your poor squire to walk all the way to Pyke??
?oShare mine, then.?
?oYou?Td like that well enough.? The smile again. ?oNow, would I be behind you, or in front??
?oYou would be wherever you liked.?
?oI like to be on top.?
Where has this wench been all my life? ?oMy father?Ts hall is dim and dank. It needs Esgred to make the fires blaze.?
?oThe lordling has a honeyed tongue.?
?oIsn?Tt that where we began??
She threw up her hands. ?oAnd where we end. Esgred is yours, sweet prince. Take me to your castle. Let me see your proud towers rising from the sea.?
?oI left my horse at the inn. Come.? They walked down the strand together, and when Theon took her arm, she did not pull away. He liked the way she walked; there was a boldness to it, part saunter and part sway, that suggested she would be just as bold beneath the blankets.
Lordsport was as crowded as hê?Td ever seen it, swarming with the crews of the longships that lined the pebbled shore and rode at anchor well out past the breakwater. Ironmen did not bend their knees often nor easily, but Theon noted that oarsmen and townfolk alike grew quiet as they passed, and acknowledged him with respectful bows of the head. They have finally learned who I am, he thought. And past time too.
Lord Goodbrother of Great Wyk had come in the night before with his main strength, near forty longships. His men were everywhere, conspicuous in their striped goat?Ts hair sashes. It was said about the inn that Otter Gimpkneê?Ts whores were being ****ed bowlegged by beardless boys in sashes. The boys were welcome to them so far as Theon was concerned. A poxier den of slatterns he hoped hê?Td never see. His present companion was more to his taste. That she was wed to his father?Ts shipwright and pregnant to boot only made her more intriguing.
?oHas my lord prince begun choosing his crew?? Esgred asked as they made their way toward the stable. ?oHo, Bluetooth,? she shouted to a passing seafarer, a tall man in bearskin vest and raven-winged helm. ?oHow fares your bride??
?oFat with child, and talking of twins.?
?oSo soon?? Esgred smiled that wicked smile. ?oYou got your oar in the water quickly.?
?oAye, and stroked and stroked and stroked,? roared the man.
?oA big man,? Theon observed. ?oBluetooth, was it? Should I choose him for my Sea Bitch??
?oOnly if you mean to insult him. Bluetooth has a sweet ship of his own.?
?oI have been too long away to know one man from another,? Theon admitted. Hê?Td looked for a few of the friends hê?Td played with as a boy, but they were gone, dead, or grown into strangers. ?oMy uncle Victarion has loaned me his own steersman.?
?oRymolf Stormdrunk? A good man, so long as hê?Ts sober.? She saw more faces she knew, and called out to a passing trio, ?oUller, Qarl. Wherê?Ts your brother, Skyte??
?oThe Drowned God needed a strong oarsman, I fear,? replied the stocky man with the white streak in his beard.
?oWhat he means is, Eldiss drank too much wine and his fat belly burst,? said the pink-cheeked youth beside him.
?oWhat?Ts dead may never die,? Esgred said.
?oWhat?Ts dead may never die.?
Theon muttered the words with them. ?oYou seem well known,? he said to the woman when the men had passed on.
?oEvery man loves the shipwright?Ts wife. He had better, lest he wants his ship to sink. If you need men to pull your oars, you could do worse than those three.?
?oLordsport has no lack of strong arms.? Theon had given the matter no little thought. It was fighters he wanted, and men who would be loyal to him, not to his lord father or his uncles. He was playing the part of a dutiful young prince for the moment, while he waited for Lord Balon to reveal the fullness of his plans. If it turned out that he did not like those plans or his part in them, however, well...
?oStrength is not enough. A longship?Ts oars must move as one if you would have her best speed. Choose men who have rowed together before, if you?Tre wise.?
?oSage counsel. Perhaps you?Td help me choose them.? Let her believe I want her wisdom, women fancy that.
?oI may. If you treat me kindly.?
?oHow else??
Theon quickened his stride as they neared the Myraham, rocking high and empty by the quay. Her captain had tried to sail a fortnight past, but Lord Balon would not permit it. None of the merchantmen that called at Lordsport had been allowed to depart again; his father wanted no word of the hosting to reach the mainland before he was ready to strike.
?oMilord,? a plaintive voice called down from the forecastle of the merchanter. The captain?Ts daughter leaned over the rail, gazing after him. Her father had forbidden her to come ashore, but whenever Theon came to Lordsport he spied her wandering forlornly about the deck. ?oMilord, a moment,? she called after him. ?oAs it please milord...?
?oDid she?? Esgred asked as Theon hurried her past the cog. ?oPlease milord??
He saw no sense in being coy with this one. ?oFor a time. Now she wants to be my salt wife.?
?oOho. Well, shê?Td profit from some salting, no doubt. Too soft and bland, that one. Or am I wrong??
?oYou?Tre not wrong.? Soft and bland. Precisely. How had she known?
He had told Wex to wait at the inn. The common room was so crowded that Theon had to push his way through the door. Not a seat was to be had at bench nor table. Nor did he see his squire. ?oWex,? he shouted over the din and clatter. If hê?Ts up with one of those poxy whores, I?Tll strip the hide off him, he was thinking when he finally spied the boy, dicing near the hearth... and winning too, by the look of the pile of coins before him.
?oTime to go,? Theon announced. When the boy paid him no mind, he seized him by the ear and pulled him from the game. Wex grabbed up a fistful of coppers and came along without a word. That was one of the things Theon liked best about him. Most squires have loose tongues, but Wex had been born dumb... which didn?Tt seem to keep him from being clever as any twelve-year-old had a right to be. He was a baseborn son of one of Lord Botley?Ts half brothers. Taking him as squire had been part of the price Theon had paid for his horse.
When Wex saw Esgred, his eyes went round. You?Td think hê?Td never seen a woman before, Theon thought. ?oEsgred will be riding with me back to Pyke. Saddle the horses, and be quick about it.?
The boy had ridden in on a scrawny little garron from Lord Balon?Ts stable, but Theon?Ts mount was quite another sort of beast. ?oWhere did you find that hellhorse?? Esgred asked when she saw him, but from the way she laughed he knew she was impressed.
?oLord Botley bought him in Lannisport a year past, but he proved to be too much horse for him, so Botley was pleased to sell.? The Iron Islands were too sparse and rocky for breeding good horses. Most of the islanders were indifferent riders at best, more comfortable on the deck of a longship than in the saddle. Even the lords rode garrons or shaggy Harlaw ponies, and ox carts were more common than drays. The smallfolk too poor to own either one pulled their own plows through the thin, stony soil.
But Theon had spent ten years in Winterfell, and did not intend to go to war without a good mount beneath him. Lord Botley?Ts misjudgment was his good fortune: a stallion with a temper as black as his hide, larger than a courser if not quite so big as most destriers. As Theon was not quite so big as most knights, that suited him admirably. The animal had fire in his eyes. When hê?Td met his new owner, hê?Td pulled back his lips and tried to bite off his face.
?oDoes he have a name?? Esgred asked Theon as he mounted.
?oSmiler.? He gave her a hand, and pulled her up in front of him, where he could put his arms around her as they rode. ?oI knew a man once who told me that I smiled at the wrong things.?
?oDo you??
?oOnly by the lights of those who smile at nothing.? He thought of his father and his uncle Aeron.
?oAre you smiling now, my lord prince??
?oOh, yes.? Theon reached around her to take the reins. She was almost of a height with him. Her hair could have used a wash and she had a faded pink scar on her pretty neck, but he liked the smell of her, salt and sweat and woman.
The ride back to Pyke promised to be a good deal more interesting than the ride down had been.
When they were well beyond Lordsport, Theon put a hand on her breast. Esgred reached up and plucked it away. ?oI?Td keep both hands on the reins, or this black beast of yours is like to fling us both off and kick us to death.?
?oI broke him of that.? Amused, Theon behaved himself for a while, chatting amiably of the weather (grey and overcast, as it had been since he arrived, with frequent rains) and telling her of the men hê?Td killed in the Whispering Wood. When he reached the part about coming that close to the Kingslayer himself, he slid his hand back up to where it had been. Her breasts were small, but he liked the firmness of them.
?oYou don?Tt want to do that, my lord prince.?
?oOh, but I do.? Theon gave her a squeeze.
?oYour squire is watching you.?
?oLet him. Hê?Tll never speak of it, I swear.?
Esgred pried his fingers off her breast. This time she kept him firmly prisoned. She had strong hands.
?oI like a woman with a good tight grip.?
She snorted. ?oI?Td not have thought it, by that wench on the waterfront.?
?oYou must not judge me by her. She was the only woman on the ship.?
?oTell me of your father. Will he welcome me kindly to his castle??
?oWhy should he? He scarcely welcomed me, his own blood, the heir to Pyke and the Iron Islands.?
?oAre you?? she asked mildly. ?oIt?Ts said that you have uncles, brothers, a sister.?
?oMy brothers are long dead, and my sister... well, they say Ashâ?Ts favorite gown is a chainmail hauberk that hangs down past her knees, with boiled leather smallclothes beneath. Men?Ts garb won?Tt make her a man, though. I?Tll make a good marriage alliance with her once wê?Tve won the war, if I can find a man to take her. As I recall, she had a nose like a vulturê?Ts beak, a ripe crop of pimples, and no more chest than a boy.?
?oYou can marry off your sister,? Esgred observed, ?obut not your uncles.?
?oMy uncles,? Theon?Ts claim took precedence over those of his father?Ts three brothers, but the woman had touched on a sore point nonetheless. In the islands it was scarce unheard of for a strong, ambitious uncle to dispossess a weak nephew of his rights, and usually murder him in the bargain. But I am not weak, Theon told himself, and I mean to be stronger yet by the time my father dies. ?oMy uncles pose no threat to me,? he declared. ?oAeron is drunk on seawater and sanctity. He lives only for his god-?
?oHis god? Not yours??
?oMine as well. What is dead can never die.? He smiled thinly. ?oIf I make pious noises as required, Damphair will give me no trouble. And my uncle Victarion-?
?oLord Captain of the Iron Fleet, and a fearsome warrior. I have heard them sing of him in the alehouses.?
?oDuring my lord father?Ts rebellion, he sailed into Lannisport with my uncle Euron and burned the Lannister fleet where it lay at anchor,? Theon recalled. ?oThe plan was Euron?Ts, though. Victarion is like some great grey bullock, strong and tireless and dutiful, but not like to win any races. No doubt, hê?Tll serve me as loyally as he has served my lord father. He has neither the wits nor the ambition to plot betrayal.?
?oEuron Croweye has no lack of cunning, though. I?Tve heard men say terrible things of that one.?
Theon shifted his seat. ?oMy uncle Euron has not been seen in the islands for close on two years. He may be dead.? If so, it might be for the best. Lord Balon?Ts eldest brother had never given up the Old Way, even for a day. His Silence, with its black sails and dark red hull, was infamous in every port from Ibben to Asshai, it was said.
?oHe may be dead,? Esgred agreed, ?oand if he lives, why, he has spent so long at sea, hê?Td be half a stranger here. The ironborn would never seat a stranger in the Seastone Chair.?
?oI suppose not,? Theon replied, before it occurred to him that some would call him a stranger as well. The thought made him frown. Ten years is a long while, but I am back now, and my father is far from dead. I have time to prove myself.

He considered fondling Esgred?Ts breast again, but she would probably only take his hand away, and all this talk of his uncles had dampened his ardor somewhat. Time enough for such play at the castle, in the privacy of his chambers. ?oI will speak to Helya when we reach Pyke, and see that you have an honored place at the feast,? he said. ?oI must sit on the dais, at my father?Ts right hand, but I will come down and join you when he leaves the hall. He seldom lingers long. He has no belly for drink these days.?
?oA grievous thing when a great man grows old.?
?oLord Balon is but the father of a great man.?
?oA modest lordling.?
?oOnly a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him.? He kissed her lightly on the nape of her neck.
?oWhat shall I wear to this great feast?? She reached back and pushed his face away.
?oI?Tll ask Helya to garb you. One of my lady mother?Ts gowns might do. She is off on Harlaw, and not expected to return.?
?oThe cold winds have worn her away, I hear. Will you not go see her? Harlaw is only a day?Ts sail, and surely Lady Greyjoy yearns for a last sight of her son.?
?oWould that I could. I am kept too busy here. My father relies on me, now that I am returned. Come peace, perhaps...?
?oYour coming might bring her peace.?
?oNow you sound a woman,? Theon complained.
?oI confess, I am... and new with child.?
Somehow that thought excited him. ?oSo you say, but your body shows no signs of it. How shall it be proven? Before I believe you, I shall need to see your breasts grow ripe, and taste your mother?Ts milk.?
?oAnd what will my husband say to this? Your father?Ts own sworn man and servant??
?oWê?Tll give him so many ships to build, hê?Tll never know you?Tve left him.?
She laughed. ?oIt?Ts a cruel lordling whô?Ts seized me. If I promise you that one day you may watch my babe get suck, will you tell me more of your war, Theon of House Greyjoy? There are miles and mountains still ahead of us, and I would hear of this wolf king you served, and the golden lions he fights.?
Ever anxious to please her, Theon obliged. The rest of the long ride passed swiftly as he filled her pretty head with tales of Winterfell and war. Some of the things he said astonished him. She is easy to talk to, gods praise her, he reflected. I feel as though I?Tve known her for years. If the wench?Ts pillow play is half the equal of her wit, I?Tll need to keep her... He thought of Sigrin the Shipwright, a thick-bodied, thick-witted man, flaxen hair already receding from a pimpled brow, and shook his head. A waste. A most tragic waste.
It seemed scarcely any time at all before the great curtain wall of Pyke loomed up before them.
The gates were open. Theon put his heels into Smiler and rode through at a brisk trot. The hounds were barking wildly as he helped Esgred dismount. Several came bounding up, tails wagging. They shot straight past him and almost bowled the woman over, leaping all around her, yapping and licking. ?oOff,? Theon shouted, aiming an ineffectual kick at one big brown bitch, but Esgred was laughing and wrestling with them.
A stableman came pounding up after the dogs. ?oTake the horse,? Theon commanded him, ?oand get these damn dogs away-?
The lout paid him no mind. His face broke into a huge gap-toothed smile and he said, ?oLady Asha. You?Tre back.?
?oLast night,? she said. ?oI sailed from Great Wyk with Lord Goodbrother, and spent the night at the inn. My little brother was kind enough to let me ride with him from Lordsport.? She kissed one of the dogs on the nose and grinned at Theon.
All he could do was stand and gape at her. Asha. No. She cannot be Asha. He realized suddenly that there were two Ashas in his head. One was the little girl he had known. The other, more vaguely imagined, looked something like her mother. Neither looked a bit like this... this... this...
?oThe pimples went when the breasts came,? she explained while she tussled with a dog, ?obut I kept the vulturê?Ts beak.?
Theon found his voice. ?oWhy didn?Tt you tell me??
Asha let go of the hound and straightened. ?oI wanted to see who you were first. And I did.? She gave him a mocking half bow. ?oAnd now, little brother, pray excuse me. I need to bathe and dress for the feast. I wonder if I still have that chainmail gown I like to wear over my boiled leather smallclothes?? She gave him that evil grin, and crossed the bridge with that walk hê?Td liked so well, half saunter and half sway.
When Theon turned away, Wex was smirking at him. He gave the boy a clout on the ear. ?oThat?Ts for enjoying this so much.? And another, harder. ?oAnd that?Ts for not warning me. Next time, grow a tongue.?
His own chambers in the Guest Keep had never seemed so chilly, though the thralls had left a brazier burning. Theon kicked his boots off, let his cloak fall to the floor, and poured himself a cup of wine, remembering a gawky girl with knob knees and pimples. She unlaced my breeches, he thought, outraged, and she said... oh, gods, and I said... He groaned. He could not possibly have made a more appalling fool of himself.
No, he thought then. She was the one who made me a fool. The evil bitch must have enjoyed every moment of it. And the way she kept reaching for my ****...
He took his cup and went to the window seat, where he sat drinking and watching the sea while the sun darkened over Pyke. I have no place here, he thought, and Asha is the reason, may the Others take her! The water below turned from green to grey to black. By then he could hear distant music, and he knew it was time to change for the feast.
Theon chose plain boots and plainer clothes, somber shades of black and grey to fit his mood. No ornament; he had nothing bought with iron. I might have taken something off that wildling I killed to save Bran Stark, but he had nothing worth the taking. That?Ts my cursed luck, I kill the poor.
The long smoky hall was crowded with his father?Ts lords and captains when Theon entered, near four hundred of them. Dagmer Cleftjaw had not yet returned from Old Wyk with the Stonehouses and Drumms, but all the rest were there-Harlaws from Harlaw, Blacktydes from Blacktyde, Sparrs, Merlyns, and Goodbrothers from Great Wyk, Saltcliffes and Sunderlies from Saltcliffe, and Botleys and Wynches from the other side of Pyke. The thralls were pouring ale, and there was music, fiddles and skins and drums. Three burly men were doing the finger dance, spinning short-hafted axes at each other. The trick was to catch the axe or leap over it without missing a step. It was called the finger dance because it usually ended when one of the dancers lost one... or two, or five.
Neither the dancers nor the drinkers took much note of Theon Greyjoy as he strode to the dais. Lord Balon occupied the Seastone Chair, carved in the shape of a great kraken from an immense block of oily black stone. Legend said that the First Men had found it standing on the shore of Old Wyk when they came to the Iron Islands. To the left of the high seat were Theon?Ts uncles. Asha was ensconced at his right hand, in the place of honor. ?oYou come late, Theon,? Lord Balon observed.
?oI ask your pardon.? Theon took the empty seat beside Asha. Leaning close, he hissed in her ear, ?oYou?Tre in my place.?
She turned to him with innocent eyes. ?oBrother, surely you are mistaken. Your place is at Winterfell.? Her smile cut. ?oAnd where are all your pretty clothes? I heard you fancied silk and velvet against your skin.? She was in soft green wool herself, simply cut, the fabric clinging to the slender lines of her body.
?oYour hauberk must have rusted away, sister,? he threw back. ?oA great pity. I?Td like to see you all in iron.?
Asha only laughed. ?oYou may yet, little brother... if you think your Sea Bitch can keep up with my Black Wind.? One of their father?Ts thralls came near, bearing a flagon of wine. ?oAre you drinking ale or wine tonight, Theon?? She leaned over close. ?oOr is it still a taste of my mother?Ts milk you thirst for??
He flushed. ?oWine,? he told the thrall. Asha turned away and banged on the table, shouting for ale.
Theon hacked a loaf of bread in half, hollowed out a trencher, and summoned a cook to fill it with fish stew. The smell of the thick cream made him a little ill, but he forced himself to eat some. Hê?Td drunk enough wine to float him through two meals. If I retch, it will be on her. ?oDoes Father know that you?Tve married his shipwright?? he asked his sister.
?oNo more than Sigrin does.? She gave a shrug. ?oEsgred was the first ship he built. He named her after his mother. I would be hard-pressed to say which he loves best.?
?oEvery word you spoke to me was a lie.?
?oNot every word. Remember when I told you I like to be on top?? Asha grinned.
That only made him angrier. ?oAll that about being a woman wed, and new with child...?
?oOh, that part was true enough.? Asha leapt to her feet. ?oRolfe, here,? she shouted down at one of the finger dancers, holding up a hand. He saw her, spun, and suddenly an axe came flying from his hand, the blade gleaming as it tumbled end over end through the torchlight. Theon had time for a choked gasp before Asha snatched the axe from the air and slammed it down into the table, splitting his trencher in two and splattering his mantle with drippings. ?oTherê?Ts my lord husband.? His sister reached down inside her gown and drew a dirk from between her breasts. ?oAnd herê?Ts my sweet suckling babe.?
He could not imagine how he looked at that moment, but suddenly Theon Greyjoy realized that the Great Hall was ringing with laughter, all of it at him. Even his father was smiling, gods be damned, and his uncle Victarion chuckled aloud. The best response he could summon was a queasy grin. We shall see who is laughing when all this is done, bitch.
Asha wrenched the axe out of the table and flung it back down at the dancers, to whistles and loud cheers. ?oYou?Td do well to heed what I told you about choosing a crew.? A thrall offered them a platter, and she stabbed a salted fish and ate it off the end of her dirk. ?oIf you had troubled to learn the first thing of Sigrin, I could never have fooled you. Ten years a wolf, and you land here and think to prince about the islands, but you know nothing and no one. Why should men fight and die for you? ?o
?oI am their lawful prince,? Theon said stiffly.
?oBy the laws of the green lands, you might be. But we make our own laws here, or have you forgotten??
Scowling, Theon turned to contemplate the leaking trencher before him. He would have stew in his lap before long. He shouted for a thrall to clean it up. Half my life I have waited to come home, and for what? Mockery and disregard? This was not the Pyke he remembered. Or did he remember? He had been so young when they took him away to hold hostage.
The feast was a meager enough thing, a succession of fish stews, black bread, and spiceless goat. The tastiest thing Theon found to eat was an onion pie. Ale and wine continued to flow well after the last of the courses had been cleared away.
Lord Balon Greyjoy rose from the Seastone Chair. ?oHave done with your drink and come to my solar,? he commanded his companions on the dais. ?oWe have plans to lay.? He left them with no other word, flanked by two of his guards. His brothers followed in short order. Theon rose to go after them.
?oMy little brother is in a rush to be off.? Asha raised her drinking horn and beckoned for more ale.
?oOur lord father is waiting.?
?oAnd has, for many a year. It will do him no harm to wait a little longer... but if you fear his wrath, scurry after him by all means. You ought to have no trouble catching our uncles.? She smiled. ?oOne is drunk on seawater, after all, and the other is a great grey bullock so dim hê?Tll probably get lost.?
Theon sat back down, annoyed. ?oI run after no man.?
?oNo man, but every woman??
?oIt was not me who grabbed your ****.?
?oI don?Tt have one, remember? You grabbed every other bit of me quick enough.?
He could feel the flush creeping up his cheeks. ?oI?Tm a man with a man?Ts hungers. What sort of unnatural creature are you??
?oOnly a shy maid.? Ashâ?Ts hand darted out under the table to give his **** a squeeze. Theon nearly jumped from his chair. ?oWhat, don?Tt you want me to steer you into port, brother??
?oMarriage is not for you,? Theon decided. ?oWhen I rule, I believe I will pack you off to the silent sisters.? He lurched to his feet and strode off unsteadily to find his father.
Rain was falling by the time he reached the swaying bridge out to the Sea Tower. His stomach was crashing and churning like the waves below, and wine had unsteadied his feet. Theon gritted his teeth and gripped the rope tightly as he made his way across, pretending that it was Ashâ?Ts neck he was clutching.
The solar was as damp and drafty as ever. Buried under his sealskin robes, his father sat before the brazier with his brothers on either side of him. Victarion was talking of tides and winds when Theon entered, but Lord Balon waved him silent. ?oI have made my plans. It is time you heard them.?
?oI have some suggestions-?
?oWhen I require your counsel I shall ask for it,? his father said. ?oWe have had a bird from Old Wyk. Dagmer is bringing the Drumms and Stonehouses. If the god grants us good winds, we will sail when they arrive... or you will. I mean for you to strike the first blow, Theon. You shall take eight longships north-?
?oEight?? His face reddened. ?oWhat can I hope to accomplish with only eight longships??
?oYou are to harry the Stony Shore, raiding the fishing villages and sinking any ships you chance to meet. It may be that you will draw some of the northern lords out from behind their stone walls. Aeron will accompany you, and Dagmer Cleftjaw.?
?oMay the Drowned God bless our swords,? the priest said.
Theon felt as if hê?Td been slapped. He was being sent to do reaver?Ts work, burning fishermen out of their hovels and raping their ugly daughters, and yet it seemed Lord Balon did not trust him sufficiently to do even that much. Bad enough to have *****ffer the Damphair?Ts scowls and chidings. With Dagmer Cleftjaw along as well, his command would be purely nominal.
?oAsha my daughter,? Lord Balon went on, and Theon turned to see that his sister had slipped in silently, ?oyou shall take thirty longships of picked men round Sea Dragon Point. Land upon the tidal flats north of Deepwood Motte. March quickly, and the castle may fall before they even know you are upon them.?
Asha smiled like a cat in cream. ?oI?Tve always wanted a castle,? she said sweetly.
?oThen take one.?
Theon had to bite his tongue. Deepwood Motte was the stronghold of the Glovers. With both Robett and Galbart warring in the south, it would be lightly held, and once the castle fell the ironmen would have a secure base in the heart of the north. I should be the one sent to take Deepwood. He knew Deepwood Motte, he had visited the Glovers several times with Eddard Stark.
?oVictarion,? Lord Balon said to his brother, ?othe main thrust shall fall to you. When my sons have struck their blows, Winterfell must respond. You should meet small opposition as you sail up Saltspear and the Fever River. At the headwaters, you will be less than twenty miles from Moat Cailin. The Neck is the key to the kingdom. Already we command the western seas. Once we hold Moat Cailin, the pup will not be able to win back to the north... and if he is fool enough to try, his enemies will seal the south end of the causeway behind him, and Robb the boy will find himself caught like a rat in a bottle.?
Theon could keep silent no longer. ?oA bold plan, Father, but the lords in their castles-?
Lord Balon rode over him. ?oThe lords are gone south with the pup. Those who remained behind are the cravens, old men, and green boys. They will yield or fall, one by one. Winterfell may defy us for a year, but what of it? The rest shall be ours, forest and field and hall, and we shall make the folk our thralls and salt wives.?
Aeron Damphair raised his arms. ?oAnd the waters of wrath will rise high, and the Drowned God will spread his dominion across the green lands!?
?oWhat is dead can never die,? Victarion intoned. Lord Balon and Asha echoed his words, and Theon had no choice but to mumble along with them. And then it was done.
Outside the rain was falling harder than ever. The rope bridge twisted and writhed under his feet. Theon Greyjoy stopped in the center of the span and contemplated the rocks below. The sound of the waves was a crashing roar, and he could taste the salt spray on his lips. A sudden gust of wind made him lose his footing, and he stumbled to his knees.
Asha helped him rise. ?oYou can?Tt hold your wine either, brother.?
Theon leaned on her shoulder and let her guide him across the rainslick boards. ?oI liked you better when you were Esgred,? he told her accusingly.
She laughed. ?oThat?Ts fair. I liked you better when you were nine.?