[George_R.R._Martin]_A_Game_of_Thrones(BookFi)

in stalls when they arrived, yet even so the great market seemed hushed anddeserted compared to the teeming bazaars that Dany remembered from Pentosand the other Free Cities. The caravans made their way to Vaes Dothrak fromeast and west not so much to sell to the Dothraki as to trade with each other, SerJorah had explained. The riders let them come and go unmolested, so long asthey observed the peace of the sacred city, did not profane the Mother ofMountains or the Womb of the World, and honored the crones of the doshkhaleen with the traditional gifts of salt, silver, and seed. The Dothraki did nottruly comprehend this business of buying and selling. Dany liked the strangeness of the Eastern Market too, with all its queersights and sounds and smells. She often spent her mornings there, nibbling treeeggs, locust pie, and green noodles, listening to the high ululating voices of thespellsingers, gaping at manticores in silver cages and immense grey elephantsand the striped black-and-white horses of the Jogos Nhai. She enjoyed watchingall the people too: dark solemn Asshai’i and tall pale Qartheen, the bright-eyedmen of Yi Ti in monkey-tail hats, warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana,and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks,even the dour and frightening Shadow Men, who covered their arms and legsand chests with tattoos and hid their faces behind masks. The Eastern Marketwas a place of wonder and magic for Dany. But the Western Market smelled of home. As Irri and Jhiqui helped her from her litter, she sniffed, and recognized thesharp odors of garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone inthe alleys of Tyrosh and Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. Under thatshe smelled the heady sweet perfumes of Lys. She saw slaves carrying bolts ofintricate Myrish lace and fine wools in a dozen rich colors. Caravan guardswandered among the aisles in copper helmets and knee-length tunics of quiltedyellow cotton, empty scabbards swinging from their woven leather belts. Behindone stall an armorer displayed steel breastplates worked with gold and silver inornate patterns, and helms hammered in the shapes of fanciful beasts. Next tohim was a pretty young woman selling Lannisport goldwork, rings and broochesand torcs and exquisitely wrought medallions suitable for belting. A huge eunuchguarded her stall, mute and hairless, dressed in sweat-stained velvets andscowling at anyone who came close. Across the aisle, a fat cloth trader from YiTi was haggling with a Pentoshi over the price of some green dye, the monkey

tail on his hat swaying back and forth as he shook his head. “When I was a little girl, I loved to play in the bazaar,” Dany told Ser Jorahas they wandered down the shady aisle between the stalls. “It was so alive there,all the people shouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at…though we seldom had enough coin to buy anything… well, except for a sausagenow and again, or honeyfingers… do they have honeyfingers in the SevenKingdoms, the kind they bake in Tyrosh?” “Cakes, are they? I could not say, Princess.” The knight bowed. “If youwould pardon me for a time, I will seek out the captain and see if he has lettersfor us.” “Very well. I’ll help you find him.” “There is no need for you to trouble yourself.” Ser Jorah glanced awayimpatiently. “Enjoy the market. I will rejoin you when my business isconcluded.” Curious, Dany thought as she watched him stride off through the throngs.She didn’t see why she should not go with him. Perhaps Ser Jorah meant to finda woman after he met with the merchant captain. Whores frequently traveledwith the caravans, she knew, and some men were queerly shy about theircouplings. She gave a shrug. “Come,” she told the others. Her handmaids trailed along as Dany resumed her stroll through the market.“Oh, look,” she exclaimed to Doreah, “those are the kind of sausages I meant.”She pointed to a stall where a wizened little woman was grilling meat and onionson a hot firestone. “They make them with lots of garlic and hot peppers.”Delighted with her discovery, Dany insisted the others join her for a sausage. Herhandmaids wolfed theirs down giggling and grinning, though the men of herkhas sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. “They taste different than Iremember,” Dany said after her first few bites. “In Pentos, I make them with pork,” the old woman said, “but all my pigsdied on the Dothraki sea. These are made of horsemeat, Khaleesi, but I spicethem the same.” “Oh.” Dany felt disappointed, but Quaro liked his sausage so well hedecided to have another one, and Rakharo had to outdo him and eat three more,belching loudly. Dany giggled. “You have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by

Drogo,” said Irri. “It is good to see, Khaleesi.” Dany smiled shyly. It was sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again. They wandered for half the morning. She saw a beautiful feathered cloakfrom the Summer Isles, and took it for a gift. In return, she gave the merchant asilver medallion from her belt. That was how it was done among the Dothraki. Abirdseller taught a green-and-red parrot to say her name, and Dany laughedagain, yet still refused to take him. What would she do with a green-and-redparrot in a khalasar? She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes ofher childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could seethe big house with the red door once more. When Doreah looked longingly at afertility charm at a magician’s booth, Dany took that too and gave it to thehandmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui aswell. Turning a corner, they came upon a wine merchant offering thimble-sizedcups of his wares to the passersby. “Sweet reds,” he cried in fluent Dothraki, “Ihave sweet reds, from Lys and Volantis and the Arbor. Whites from Lys, Tyroshipear brandy, firewine, pepperwine, the pale green nectars of Myr. Smokeberrybrowns and Andalish sours, I have them, I have them.” He was a small man,slender and handsome, his flaxen hair curled and perfumed after the fashion ofLys. When Dany paused before his stall, he bowed low. “A taste for the khaleesi?I have a sweet red from Dorne, my lady, it sings of plums and cherries and richdark oak. A cask, a cup, a swallow? One taste, and you will name your childafter me.” Dany smiled. “My son has his name, but I will try your summerwine,” shesaid in Valyrian, Valyrian as they spoke it in the Free Cities. The words feltstrange on her tongue, after so long. “Just a taste, if you would be so kind.” The merchant must have taken her for Dothraki, with her clothes and heroiled hair and sun-browned skin. When she spoke, he gaped at her inastonishment. “My lady, you are… Tyroshi? Can it be so?” “My speech may be Tyroshi, and my garb Dothraki, but I am of Westeros, ofthe Sunset Kingdoms,” Dany told him. Doreah stepped up beside her. “You have the honor to address Daenerys ofthe House Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi of the riding men andprincess of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The wine merchant dropped to his knees. “Princess,” he said, bowing hishead. “Rise,” Dany commanded him. “I would still like to taste that summerwineyou spoke of.” The man bounded to his feet. “That? Dornish swill. It is not worthy of aprincess. I have a dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable. Please, let megive you a cask.” Khal Drogo’s visits to the Free Cities had given him a taste for good wine,and Dany knew that such a noble vintage would please him. “You honor me,ser,” she murmured sweetly. “The honor is mine.” The merchant rummaged about in the back of his stalland produced a small oaken cask. Burned into the wood was a cluster of grapes.“The Redwyne sigil,” he said, pointing, “for the Arbor. There is no finer drink.” “Khal Drogo and I will share it together. Aggo, take this back to my litter, ifyou’d be so kind.” The wineseller beamed as the Dothraki hefted the cask. She did not realize that Ser Jorah had returned until she heard the knight say,“No.” His voice was strange, brusque. “Aggo, put down that cask.” Aggo looked at Dany. She gave a hesitant nod. “Ser Jorah, is somethingwrong?” “I have a thirst. Open it, wineseller.” The merchant frowned. “The wine is for the khaleesi, not for the likes ofyou, ser.” Ser Jorah moved closer to the stall. “If you don’t open it, I’ll crack it openwith your head.” He carried no weapons here in the sacred city, save his hands—yet his hands were enough, big, hard, dangerous, his knuckles covered withcoarse dark hairs. The wineseller hesitated a moment, then took up his hammerand knocked the plug from the cask. “Pour,” Ser Jorah commanded. The four young warriors of Dany’s khasarrayed themselves behind him, frowning, watching with their dark, almond-shaped eyes. “It would be a crime to drink this rich a wine without letting it breathe.” Thewineseller had not put his hammer down. Jhogo reached for the whip coiled at his belt, but Dany stopped him with a

light touch on the arm. “Do as Ser Jorah says,” she said. People were stopping towatch. The man gave her a quick, sullen glance. “As the princess commands.” Hehad to set aside his hammer to lift the cask. He filled two thimble-sized tastingcups, pouring so deftly he did not spill a drop. Ser Jorah lifted a cup and sniffed at the wine, frowning. “Sweet, isn’t it?” the wineseller said, smiling. “Can you smell the fruit, ser?The perfume of the Arbor. Taste it, my lord, and tell me it isn’t the finest, richestwine that’s ever touched your tongue.” Ser Jorah offered him the cup. “You taste it first.” “Me?” The man laughed. “I am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it’sa poor wine merchant who drinks up his own wares.” His smile was amiable, yetshe could see the sheen of sweat on his brow. “You will drink,” Dany said, cold as ice. “Empty the cup, or I will tell themto hold you down while Ser Jorah pours the whole cask down your throat.” The wineseller shrugged, reached for the cup… and grabbed the caskinstead, flinging it at her with both hands. Ser Jorah bulled into her, knocking herout of the way. The cask bounced off his shoulder and smashed open on theground. Dany stumbled and lost her feet. “No,” she screamed, thrusting herhands out to break her fall… and Doreah caught her by the arm and wrenchedher backward, so she landed on her legs and not her belly. The trader vaulted over the stall, darting between Aggo and Rakharo. Quaroreached for an arakh that was not there as the blond man slammed him aside. Heraced down the aisle. Dany heard the snap of Jhogo’s whip, saw the leather lickout and coil around the wineseller’s leg. The man sprawled face first in the dirt. A dozen caravan guards had come running. With them was the masterhimself, Merchant Captain Byan Votyris, a diminutive Norvoshi with skin likeold leather and a bristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears. He seemed toknow what had happened without a word being spoken. “Take this one away toawait the pleasure of the khal,” he commanded, gesturing at the man on theground. Two guards hauled the wineseller to his feet. “His goods I gift to you aswell, Princess,” the merchant captain went on. “Small token of regret, that one ofmine would do this thing.” Doreah and Jhiqui helped Dany back to her feet. The poisoned wine was

leaking from the broken cask into the dirt. “How did you know?” she asked SerJorah, trembling. “How?” “I did not know, Khaleesi, not until the man refused to drink, but once I readMagister Illyrio’s letter, I feared.” His dark eyes swept over the faces of thestrangers in the market. “Come. Best not to talk of it here.” Dany was near tears as they carried her back. The taste in her mouth wasone she had known before: fear. For years she had lived in terror of Viserys,afraid of waking the dragon. This was even worse. It was not just for herself thatshe feared now, but for her baby. He must have sensed her fright, for he movedrestlessly inside her. Dany stroked the swell of her belly gently, wishing shecould reach him, touch him, soothe him. “You are the blood of the dragon, littleone,” she whispered as her litter swayed along, curtains drawn tight. “You arethe blood of the dragon, and the dragon does not fear.” Under the hollow hummock of earth that was her home in Vaes Dothrak,Dany ordered them to leave her—all but Ser Jorah. “Tell me,” she commandedas she lowered herself onto her cushions. “Was it the Usurper?” “Yes.” The knight drew out a folded parchment. “A letter to Viserys, fromMagister Illyrio. Robert Baratheon offers lands and lordships for your death, oryour brother’s.” “My brother?” Her sob was half a laugh. “He does not know yet, does he?The Usurper owes Drogo a lordship.” This time her laugh was half a sob. Shehugged herself protectively. “And me, you said. Only me?” “You and the child,” Ser Jorah said, grim. “No. He cannot have my son.” She would not weep, she decided. She wouldnot shiver with fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself…and her eyes went to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. Theshifting lamplight limned their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade andscarlet and gold swam in the air around them, like courtiers around a king. Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdomburied in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying,“Ser Jorah, light the brazier.” “Khaleesi?” The knight looked at her strangely. “It is so hot. Are youcertain?” She had never been so certain. “Yes. I… I have a chill. Light the brazier.”

He bowed. “As you command.” When the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to bealone to do what she must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted theblack-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. It will only crack and burn, and it’s sobeautiful, Ser Jorah will call me a fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet… Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed itdown amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drankthe heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed theother two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from thebrazier, the breath trembled in her throat. She watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated upand out of the smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon’s eggs.And that was all. Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, Ser Jorah had said. Dany gazedat her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand thousand years ago theyhad been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks. They could not make adragon. A dragon was air and fire. Living flesh, not dead stone. The brazier was cold again by the time Khal Drogo returned. Cohollo wasleading a packhorse behind him, with the carcass of a great white lion slungacross its back. Above, the stars were coming out. The khal laughed as he swungdown off his stallion and showed her the scars on his leg where the hrakkar hadraked him through his leggings. “I shall make you a cloak of its skin, moon ofmy life,” he swore. When Dany told him what had happened at the market, all laughter stopped,and Khal Drogo grew very quiet. “This poisoner was the first,” Ser Jorah Mormont warned him, “but he willnot be the last. Men will risk much for a lordship.” Drogo was silent for a time. Finally he said, “This seller of poisons ran fromthe moon of my life. Better he should run after her. So he will. Jhogo, Jorah theAndal, to each of you I say, choose any horse you wish from my herds, and it isyours. Any horse save my red and the silver that was my bride gift to the moonof my life. I make this gift to you for what you did. “And to Rhaego son of Drogo, the stallion who will mount the world, to himI also pledge a gift. To him I will give this iron chair his mother’s father sat in. I

will give him Seven Kingdoms. I, Drogo, khal, will do this thing.” His voicerose, and he lifted his fist to the sky. “I will take my khalasar west to where theworld ends, and ride the wooden horses across the black salt water as no khal hasdone before. I will kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses.I will rape their women, take their children as slaves, and bring their broken godsback to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains. This Ivow, I, Drogo son of Bharbo. This I swear before the Mother of Mountains, asthe stars look down in witness.” His khalasar left Vaes Dothrak two days later, striking south and west acrossthe plains. Khal Drogo led them on his great red stallion, with Daenerys besidehim on her silver. The wineseller hurried behind them, naked, on foot, chained atthroat and wrists. His chains were fastened to the halter of Dany’s silver. As sherode, he ran after her, barefoot and stumbling. No harm would come to him… solong as he kept up.

CATELYNIt was too far to make out the banners clearly, but even through the drifting fogshe could see that they were white, with a dark smudge in their center that couldonly be the direwolf of Stark, grey upon its icy field. When she saw it with herown eyes, Catelyn reined up her horse and bowed her head in thanks. The godswere good. She was not too late. “They await our coming, my lady,” Ser Wylis Manderly said, “as my lordfather swore they would.” “Let us not keep them waiting any longer, ser.” Ser Brynden Tully put thespurs to his horse and trotted briskly toward the banners. Catelyn rode besidehim. Ser Wylis and his brother Ser Wendel followed, leading their levies, nearfifteen hundred men: some twenty-odd knights and as many squires, twohundred mounted lances, swordsmen, and freeriders, and the rest foot, armedwith spears, pikes and tridents. Lord Wyman had remained behind to see to thedefenses of White Harbor. A man of near sixty years, he had grown too stout tosit a horse. “If I had thought to see war again in my lifetime, I should have eatena few less eels,” he’d told Catelyn when he met her ship, slapping his massivebelly with both hands. His fingers were fat as sausages. “My boys will see yousafe to your son, though, have no fear.” His “boys” were both older than Catelyn, and she might have wished thatthey did not take after their father quite so closely. Ser Wylis was only a few eelsshort of not being able to mount his own horse; she pitied the poor animal. SerWendel, the younger boy, would have been the fattest man she’d ever known,had she only neglected to meet his father and brother. Wylis was quiet andformal, Wendel loud and boisterous; both had ostentatious walrus mustaches andheads as bare as a baby’s bottom; neither seemed to own a single garment thatwas not spotted with food stains. Yet she liked them well enough; they hadgotten her to Robb, as their father had vowed, and nothing else mattered. She was pleased to see that her son had sent eyes out, even to the east. TheLannisters would come from the south when they came, but it was good thatRobb was being careful. My son is leading a host to war, she thought, still only

half believing it. She was desperately afraid for him, and for Winterfell, yet shecould not deny feeling a certain pride as well. A year ago he had been a boy.What was he now? she wondered. Outriders spied the Manderly banners—the white merman with trident inhand, rising from a blue-green sea—and hailed them warmly. They were led to aspot of high ground dry enough for a camp. Ser Wylis called a halt there, andremained behind with his men to see the fires laid and the horses tended, whilehis brother Wendel rode on with Catelyn and her uncle to present their father’srespects to their liege lord. The ground under their horses’ hooves was soft and wet. It fell away slowlybeneath them as they rode past smoky peat fires, lines of horses, and wagonsheavy-laden with hardbread and salt beef. On a stony outcrop of land higher thanthe surrounding country, they passed a lord’s pavilion with walls of heavysailcloth. Catelyn recognized the banner, the bull moose of the Hornwoods,brown on its dark orange field. Just beyond, through the mists, she glimpsed the walls and towers of MoatCailin… or what remained of them. Immense blocks of black basalt, each aslarge as a crofter’s cottage, lay scattered and tumbled like a child’s woodenblocks, half-sunk in the soft boggy soil. Nothing else remained of a curtain wallthat had once stood as high as Winterfell’s. The wooden keep was gone entirely,rotted away a thousand years past, with not so much as a timber to mark where ithad stood. All that was left of the great stronghold of the First Men were threetowers… three where there had once been twenty, if the taletellers could bebelieved. The Gatehouse Tower looked sound enough, and even boasted a few feet ofstanding wall to either side of it. The Drunkard’s Tower, off in the bog where thesouth and west walls had once met, leaned like a man about to spew a bellyful ofwine into the gutter. And the tall, slender Children’s Tower, where legend saidthe children of the forest had once called upon their nameless gods to send thehammer of the waters, had lost half its crown. It looked as if some great beasthad taken a bite out of the crenellations along the tower top, and spit the rubbleacross the bog. All three towers were green with moss. A tree was growing outbetween the stones on the north side of the Gatehouse Tower, its gnarled limbsfestooned with ropy white blankets of ghostskin. “Gods have mercy,” Ser Brynden exclaimed when he saw what lay before

them. “This is Moat Cailin? It’s no more than a—” “—death trap,” Catelyn finished. “I know how it looks, Uncle. I thought thesame the first time I saw it, but Ned assured me that this ruin is more formidablethan it seems. The three surviving towers command the causeway from all sides,and any enemy must pass between them. The bogs here are impenetrable, full ofquicksands and suckholes and teeming with snakes. To assault any of the towers,an army would need to wade through waist-deep black muck, cross a moat fullof lizard-lions, and scale walls slimy with moss, all the while exposingthemselves to fire from archers in the other towers.” She gave her uncle a grimsmile. “And when night falls, there are said to be ghosts, cold vengeful spirits ofthe north who hunger for southron blood.” Ser Brynden chuckled. “Remind me not to linger here. Last I looked, I wassouthron myself.” Standards had been raised atop all three towers. The Karstark sunburst hungfrom the Drunkard’s Tower, beneath the direwolf; on the Children’s Tower it wasthe Greatjon’s giant in shattered chains. But on the Gatehouse Tower, the Starkbanner flew alone. That was where Robb had made his seat. Catelyn made for it,with Ser Brynden and Ser Wendel behind her, their horses stepping slowly downthe log-and-plank road that had been laid across the green-and-black fields ofmud. She found her son surrounded by his father’s lords bannermen, in a draftyhall with a peat fire smoking in a black hearth. He was seated at a massive stonetable, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, talking intently with RooseBolton and the Greatjon. At first he did not notice her… but his wolf did. Thegreat grey beast was lying near the fire, but when Catelyn entered he lifted hishead, and his golden eyes met hers. The lords fell silent one by one, and Robblooked up at the sudden quiet and saw her. “Mother?” he said, his voice thickwith emotion. Catelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in herarms and hold him so tightly that he would never come to harm… but here infront of his lords, she dared not. He was playing a man’s part now, and shewould not take that away from him. So she held herself at the far end of thebasalt slab they were using for a table. The direwolf got to his feet and paddedacross the room to where she stood. It seemed bigger than a wolf ought to be.“You’ve grown a beard,” she said to Robb, while Grey Wind sniffed her hand.

He rubbed his stubbled jaw, suddenly awkward. “Yes.” His chin hairs wereredder than the ones on his head. “I like it.” Catelyn stroked the wolfs head, gently. “It makes you look likemy brother Edmure.” Grey Wind nipped at her fingers, playful, and trotted backto his place by the fire. Ser Helman Tallhart was the first to follow the direwolf across the room topay his respects, kneeling before her and pressing his brow to her hand. “LadyCatelyn,” he said, “you are fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times.” TheGlovers followed, Galbart and Robett, and Greatjon Umber, and the rest, one byone. Theon Greyjoy was the last. “I had not looked to see you here, my lady,” hesaid as he knelt. “I had not thought to be here,” Catelyn said, “until I came ashore at WhiteHarbor, and Lord Wyman told me that Robb had called the banners. You knowhis son, Ser Wendel.” Wendel Manderly stepped forward and bowed as low ashis girth would allow. “And my uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, who has left mysister’s service for mine.” “The Blackfish,” Robb said. “Thank you for joining us, ser. We need men ofyour courage. And you, Ser Wendel, I am glad to have you here. Is Ser Rodrikwith you as well, Mother? I’ve missed him.” “Ser Rodrik is on his way north from White Harbor. I have named himcastellan and commanded him to hold Winterfell till our return. Maester Luwinis a wise counsellor, but unskilled in the arts of war.” “Have no fear on that count, Lady Stark,” the Greatjon told her in his bassrumble. “Winterfell is safe. We’ll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister’sbunghole soon enough, begging your pardons, and then it’s on to the Red Keepto free Ned.” “My lady, a question, as it please you.” Roose Bolton, Lord of theDreadfort, had a small voice, yet when he spoke larger men quieted to listen. Hiseyes were curiously pale, almost without color, and his look disturbing. “It issaid that you hold Lord Tywin’s dwarf son as captive. Have you brought him tous? I vow, we should make good use of such a hostage.” “I did hold Tyrion Lannister, but no longer,” Catelyn was forced to admit. Achorus of consternation greeted the news. “I was no more pleased than you, mylords. The gods saw fit to free him, with some help from my fool of a sister.” She

ought not to be so open in her contempt, she knew, but her parting from theEyrie had not been pleasant. She had offered to take Lord Robert with her, tofoster him at Winterfell for a few years. The company of other boys would dohim good, she had dared to suggest. Lysa’s rage had been frightening to behold.“Sister or no,” she had replied, “if you try to steal my son, you will leave by theMoon Door.” After that there was no more to be said. The lords were anxious to question her further, but Catelyn raised a hand.“No doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. Iwould speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.” Shegave them no choice; led by the ever-obliging Lord Hornwood, the bannermenbowed and took their leave. “And you, Theon,” she added when Greyjoylingered. He smiled and left them. There was ale and cheese on the table. Catelyn tilled a horn, sat, sipped, andstudied her son. He seemed taller than when she’d left, and the wisps of bearddid make him look older. “Edmure was sixteen when he grew his first whiskers.” “I will be sixteen soon enough,” Robb said. “And you are fifteen now. Fifteen, and leading a host to battle. Can youunderstand why I might fear, Robb?” His look grew stubborn. “There was no one else.” “No one?” she said. “Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago?Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon,Helman Tallhart… you might have given the command to any of them. Gods begood, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice.” “They are not Starks,” he said. “They are men, Robb, seasoned in battle. You were fighting with woodenswords less than a year past.” She saw anger in his eyes at that, but it was gone as quick as it came, andsuddenly he was a boy again. “I know,” he said, abashed. “Are you… are yousending me back to Winterfell?” Catelyn sighed. “I should. You ought never have left. Yet I dare not, notnow. You have come too far. Someday these lords will look to you as their liege.If I pack you off now, like a child being sent to bed without his supper, they willremember, and laugh about it in their cups. The day will come when you needthem to respect you, even fear you a little. Laughter is poison to fear. I will not

do that to you, much as I might wish to keep you safe.” “You have my thanks, Mother,” he said, his relief obvious beneath theformality. She reached across his table and touched his hair. “You are my firstborn,Robb. I have only to look at you to remember the day you came into the world,red-faced and squalling.” He rose, clearly uncomfortable with her touch, and walked to the hearth.Grey Wind rubbed his head against his leg. “You know… about Father?” “Yes.” The reports of Robert’s sudden death and Ned’s fall had frightenedCatelyn more than she could say, but she would not let her son see her fear.“Lord Manderly told me when I landed at White Harbor. Have you had any wordof your sisters?” “There was a letter,” Robb said, scratching his direwolf under the jaw. “Onefor you as well, but it came to Winterfell with mine.” He went to the table,rummaged among some maps and papers, and returned with a crumpledparchment. “This is the one she wrote me, I never thought to bring yours.” Something in Robb’s tone troubled her. She smoothed out the paper andread. Concern gave way to disbelief, then to anger, and lastly to fear. “This isCersei’s letter, not your sister’s,” she said when she was done. “The real messageis in what Sansa does not say. All this about how kindly and gently theLannisters are treating her… I know the sound of a threat, even whispered. Theyhave Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her.” “There’s no mention of Arya,” Robb pointed out, miserable. “No.” Catelyn did not want to think what that might mean, not now, nothere. “I had hoped… if you still held the Imp, a trade of hostages…” He tookSansa’s letter and crumpled it in his fist, and she could tell from the way he did itthat it was not the first time. “Is there word from the Eyrie? I wrote to AuntLysa, asking help. Has she called Lord Arryn’s banners, do you know? Will theknights of the Vale come join us?” “Only one,” she said, “the best of them, my uncle… but Brynden Blackfishwas a Tully first. My sister is not about to stir beyond her Bloody Gate.” Robb took it hard. “Mother, what are we going to do? I brought this whole

army together, eighteen thousand men, but I don’t… I’m not certain…” Helooked to her, his eyes shining, the proud young lord melted away in an instant,and quick as that he was a child again, a fifteen-year-old boy looking to hismother for answers. It would not do. “What are you so afraid of, Robb?” she asked gently. “I…” He turned his head away, to hide the first tear. “If we march… even ifwe win… the Lannisters hold Sansa, and Father. They’ll kill them, won’t they?” “They want us to think so.” “You mean they’re lying?” “I do not know, Robb. What I do know is that you have no choice. If you goto King’s Landing and swear fealty, you will never be allowed to leave. If youturn your tail and retreat to Winterfell, your lords will lose all respect for you.Some may even go over to the Lannisters. Then the queen, with that much lessto fear, can do as she likes with her prisoners. Our best hope, our only true hope,is that you can defeat the foe in the field. If you should chance to take LordTywin or the Kingslayer captive, why then a trade might very well be possible,but that is not the heart of it. So long as you have power enough that they mustfear you, Ned and your sister should be safe. Cersei is wise enough to know thatshe may need them to make her peace, should the fighting go against her.” “What if the fighting doesn’t go against her?” Robb asked. “What if it goesagainst us?” Catelyn took his hand. “Robb, I will not soften the truth for you. If you lose,there is no hope for any of us. They say there is naught but stone at the heart ofCasterly Rock. Remember the fate of Rhaegar’s children.” She saw the fear in his young eyes then, but there was a strength as well.“Then I will not lose,” he vowed. “Tell me what you know of the fighting in the riverlands,” she said. She hadto learn if he was truly ready. “Less than a fortnight past, they fought a battle in the hills below the GoldenTooth,” Robb said. “Uncle Edmure had sent Lord Vance and Lord Piper to holdthe pass, but the Kingslayer descended on them and put them to flight. LordVance was slain. The last word we had was that Lord Piper was falling back to

join your brother and his other bannermen at Riverrun, with Jaime Lannister onhis heels. That’s not the worst of it, though. All the time they were battling in thepass, Lord Tywin was bringing a second Lannister army around from the south.It’s said to be even larger than Jaime’s host. “Father must have known that, because he sent out some men to opposethem, under the king’s own banner. He gave the command to some southronlordling, Lord Erik or Derik or something like that, but Ser Raymun Darry rodewith him, and the letter said there were other knights as well, and a force ofFather’s own guardsmen. Only it was a trap. Lord Derik had no sooner crossedthe Red Fork than the Lannisters fell upon him, the king’s banner be damned,and Gregor Clegane took them in the rear as they tried to pull back across theMummer’s Ford. This Lord Derik and a few others may have escaped, no one iscertain, but Ser Raymun was killed, and most of our men from Winterfell. LordTywin has closed off the kingsroad, it’s said, and now he’s marching northtoward Harrenhal, burning as he goes.” Grim and grimmer, thought Catelyn. It was worse than she’d imagined.“You mean to meet him here?” she asked. “If he comes so far, but no one thinks he will,” Robb said. “I’ve sent word toHowland Reed, Father’s old friend at Greywater Watch. If the Lannisters comeup the Neck, the crannogmen will bleed them every step of the way, but GalbartGlover says Lord Tywin is too smart for that, and Roose Bolton agrees. He’llstay close to the Trident, they believe, taking the castles of the river lords one byone, until Riverrun stands alone. We need to march south to meet him.” The very idea of it chilled Catelyn to the bone. What chance would a fifteen-year-old boy have against seasoned battle commanders like Jaime and TywinLannister? “Is that wise? You are strongly placed here. It’s said that the oldKings in the North could stand at Moat Cailin and throw back hosts ten times thesize of their own.” “Yes, but our food and supplies are running low, and this is not land we canlive off easily. We’ve been waiting for Lord Manderly, but now that his sonshave joined us, we need to march.” She was hearing the lords bannermen speaking with her son’s voice, sherealized. Over the years, she had hosted many of them at Winterfell, and beenwelcomed with Ned to their own hearths and tables. She knew what sorts of men

they were, each one. She wondered if Robb did. And yet there was sense in what they said. This host her son had assembledwas not a standing army such as the Free Cities were accustomed to maintain,nor a force of guardsmen paid in coin. Most of them were smallfolk: crofters,fieldhands, fishermen, sheepherders, the sons of innkeeps and traders andtanners, leavened with a smattering of sellswords and freeriders hungry forplunder. When their lords called, they came… but not forever. “Marching is allvery well,” she said to her son, “but where, and to what purpose? What do youmean to do?” Robb hesitated. “The Greatjon thinks we should take the battle to LordTywin and surprise him,” he said, “but the Glovers and the Karstarks feel we’dbe wiser to go around his army and join up with Uncle Ser Edmure against theKingslayer.” He ran his fingers through his shaggy mane of auburn hair, lookingunhappy. “Though by the time we reach Riverrun… I’m not certain…” “Be certain,” Catelyn told her son, “or go home and take up that woodensword again. You cannot afford to seem indecisive in front of men like RooseBolton and Rickard Karstark. Make no mistake, Robb—these are yourbannermen, not your friends. You named yourself battle commander.Command.” Her son looked at her, startled, as if he could not credit what he was hearing.“As you say, Mother.” “I’ll ask you again. What do you mean to do?” Robb drew a map across the table, a ragged piece of old leather coveredwith lines of faded paint. One end curled up from being rolled; he weighed itdown with his dagger. “Both plans have virtues, but… look, if we try to swingaround Lord Tywin’s host, we take the risk of being caught between him and theKingslayer, and if we attack him… by all reports, he has more men than I do,and a lot more armored horse. The Greatjon says that won’t matter if we catchhim with his breeches down, but it seems to me that a man who has fought asmany battles as Tywin Lannister won’t be so easily surprised.” “Good,” she said. She could hear echoes of Ned in his voice, as he sat there,puzzling over the map. “Tell me more.” “I’d leave a small force here to hold Moat Cailin, archers mostly, and marchthe rest down the causeway,” he said, “but once we’re below the Neck, I’d split

our host in two. The foot can continue down the kingsroad, while our horsemencross the Green Fork at the Twins.” He pointed. “When Lord Tywin gets wordthat we’ve come south, he’ll march north to engage our main host, leaving ourriders free to hurry down the west bank to Riverrun.” Robb sat back, not quitedaring to smile, but pleased with himself and hungry for her praise. Catelyn frowned down at the map. “You’d put a river between the two partsof your army.” “And between Jaime and Lord Tywin,” he said eagerly. The smile came atlast. “There’s no crossing on the Green Fork above the ruby ford, where Robertwon his crown. Not until the Twins, all the way up here, and Lord Frey controlsthat bridge. He’s your father’s bannerman, isn’t that so?” The Late Lord Frey, Catelyn thought. “He is,” she admitted, “but my fatherhas never trusted him. Nor should you.” “I won’t,” Robb promised. “What do you think?” She was impressed despite herself. He looks like a Tully, she thought, yethe’s still his father’s son, and Ned taught him well. “Which force would youcommand?” “The horse,” he answered at once. Again like his father; Ned would alwaystake the more dangerous task himself. “And the other?” “The Greatjon is always saying that we should smash Lord Tywin. I thoughtI’d give him the honor.” It was his first misstep, but how to make him see it without wounding hisfledgling confidence? “Your father once told me that the Greatjon was as fearlessas any man he had ever known.” Robb grinned. “Grey Wind ate two of his fingers, and he laughed about it.So you agree, then?” “Your father is not fearless,” Catelyn pointed out. “He is brave, but that isvery different.” Her son considered that for a moment. “The eastern host will be all thatstands between Lord Tywin and Winterfell,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, themand whatever few bowmen I leave here at the Moat. So I don’t want someonefearless, do I?”

“No. You want cold cunning, I should think, not courage.” “Roose Bolton,” Robb said at once. “That man scares me.” “Then let us pray he will scare Tywin Lannister as well.” Robb nodded and rolled up the map. “I’ll give the commands, and assemblean escort to take you home to Winterfell.” Catelyn had fought to keep herself strong, for Ned’s sake and for thisstubborn brave son of theirs. She had put despair and fear aside, as if they weregarments she did not choose to wear… but now she saw that she had donnedthem after all. “I am not going to Winterfell,” she heard herself say, surprised at the suddenrush of tears that blurred her vision. “My father may be dying behind the wallsof Riverrun. My brother is surrounded by foes. I must go to them.”

TYRIONChella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears had gone ahead to scout, and it wasshe who brought back word of the army at the crossroads. “By their fires I callthem twenty thousand strong,” she said. “Their banners are red, with a goldenlion.” “Your father?” Bronn asked. “Or my brother Jaime,” Tyrion said. “We shall know soon enough.” Hesurveyed his ragged band of brigands: near three hundred Stone Crows, MoonBrothers, Black Ears, and Burned Men, and those just the seed of the army hehoped to grow. Gunthor son of Gurn was raising the other clans even now. Hewondered what his lord father would make of them in their skins and bits ofstolen steel. If truth be told, he did not know what to make of them himself. Washe their commander or their captive? Most of the time, it seemed to be a little ofboth. “It might be best if I rode down alone,” he suggested. “Best for Tyrion son of Tywin,” said Ulf, who spoke for the Moon Brothers. Shagga glowered, a fearsome sight to see. “Shagga son of Dolf likes thisnot. Shagga will go with the boyman, and if the boyman lies, Shagga will chopoff his manhood—” “—and feed it to the goats, yes,” Tyrion said wearily. “Shagga, I give youmy word as a Lannister, I will return.” “Why should we trust your word?” Chella was a small hard woman, flat as aboy, and no fool. “Lowland lords have lied to the clans before.” “You wound me, Chella,” Tyrion said. “Here I thought we had become suchfriends. But as you will. You shall ride with me, and Shagga and Conn for theStone Crows, Ulf for the Moon Brothers, and Timett son of Timett for theBurned Men.” The clansmen exchanged wary looks as he named them. “The restshall wait here until I send for you. Try not to kill and maim each other while I’mgone.” He put his heels to his horse and trotted off, giving them no choice but tofollow or be left behind. Either was fine with him, so long as they did not sitdown to talk for a day and a night. That was the trouble with the clans; they had

an absurd notion that every man’s voice should be heard in council, so theyargued about everything, endlessly. Even their women were allowed to speak.Small wonder that it had been hundreds of years since they last threatened theVale with anything beyond an occasional raid. Tyrion meant to change that. Brorm rode with him. Behind them—after a quick bit of grumbling—thefive clansmen followed on their undersize garrons, scrawny things that lookedlike ponies and scrambled up rock walls like goats. The Stone Crows rode together, and Chella and Ulf stayed close as well, asthe Moon Brothers and Black Ears had strong bonds between them. Timett sonof Timett rode alone. Every clan in the Mountains of the Moon feared theBurned Men, who mortified their flesh with fire to prove their courage and (theothers said) roasted babies at their feasts. And even the other Burned Men fearedTimett, who had put out his own left eye with a white-hot knife when he reachedthe age of manhood. Tyrion gathered that it was more customary for a boy toburn off a nipple, a finger, or (if he was truly brave, or truly mad) an ear.Timett’s fellow Burned Men were so awed by his choice of an eye that theypromptly named him a red hand, which seemed to be some sort of a war chief. “I wonder what their king burned off,” Tyrion said to Bronn when he heardthe tale. Grinning, the sellsword had tugged at his crotch… but even Bronn kepta respectful tongue around Timett. If a man was mad enough to put out his owneye, he was unlikely to be gentle to his enemies. Distant watchers peered down from towers of unmortared stone as the partydescended through the foothills, and once Tyrion saw a raven take wing. Wherethe high road twisted between two rocky outcrops, they came to the first strongpoint. A low earthen wall four feet high closed off the road, and a dozencrossbowmen manned the heights. Tyrion halted his followers out of range androde to the wall alone. “Who commands here?” he shouted up. The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escortwhen he recognized his lord’s son. They trotted past blackened fields and burnedholdfasts, down to the riverlands and the Green Fork of the Trident. Tyrion sawno bodies, but the air was full of ravens and carrion crows; there had beenfighting here, and recently. Half a league from the crossroads, a barricade of sharpened stakes had beenerected, manned by pikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to

the far distance. Thin fingers of smoke rose from hundreds of cookfires, mailedmen sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered fromstaffs thrust into the muddy ground. A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as theyapproached the stakes. The knight who led them wore silver armor inlaid withamethysts and a striped purple-and-silver cloak. His shield bore a unicorn sigil,and a spiral horn two feet long jutted up from the brow of his horsehead helm.Tyrion reined up to greet him. “Ser Flement.” Ser Flement Brax lifted his visor. “Tyrion,” he said in astonishment. “Mylord, we all feared you dead, or…” He looked at the clansmen uncertainly.“These… companions of yours…” “Bosom friends and loyal retainers,” Tyrion said. “Where will I find my lordfather?” “He has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters.” Tyrion laughed. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just afterall. “I will see him at once.” “As you say, my lord.” Ser Flement wheeled his horse about and shoutedcommands. Three rows of stakes were pulled from the ground to make a hole inthe line. Tyrion led his party through. Lord Tywin’s camp spread over leagues. Chella’s estimate of twentythousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in theopen, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords haderected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion spied the red ox of the Presters, LordCrakehall’s brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrand, the badger of Lydden.Knights called out to him as he cantered past, and men-at-arms gaped at theclansmen in open astonishment. Shagga was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so manymen, horses, and weapons in all his days. The rest of the mountain brigands did abetter job of guarding their faces, but Tyrion had no doubts that they were full asmuch in awe. Better and better. The more impressed they were with the power ofthe Lannisters, the easier they would be to command. The inn and its stables were much as he remembered, though little morethan tumbled stones and blackened foundations remained where the rest of thevillage had stood. A gibbet had been erected in the yard, and the body that

swung there was covered with ravens. At Tyrion’s approach they took to the air,squawking and flapping their black wings. He dismounted and glanced up atwhat remained of the corpse. The birds had eaten her lips and eyes and most ofher cheeks, baring her stained red teeth in a hideous smile. “A room, a meal, anda flagon of wine, that was all I asked,” he reminded her with a sigh of reproach. Boys emerged hesitantly from the stables to see to their horses. Shagga didnot want to give his up. “The lad won’t steal your mare,” Tyrion assured him.“He only wants to give her some oats and water and brush out her coat.”Shagga’s coat could have used a good brushing too, but it would have been lessthan tactful to mention it. “You have my word, the horse will not be harmed.” Glaring, Shagga let go his grip on the reins. “This is the horse of Shagga sonof Dolf,” he roared at the stableboy. “If he doesn’t give her back, chop off his manhood and feed it to the goats,”Tyrion promised. “Provided you can find some.” A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood underthe inn’s sign, on either side of the door. Tyrion recognized their captain. “Myfather?” “In the common room, m’lord.” “My men will want meat and mead,” Tyrion told him. “See that they get it.”He entered the inn, and there was Father. Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in hismiddle fifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with longlegs, broad shoulders, a flat stomach. His thin arms were corded with muscle.When his once-thick golden hair had begun to recede, he had commanded hisbarber to shave his head; Lord Tywin did not believe in half measures. Herazored his lip and chin as well, but kept his side-whiskers, two great thickets ofwiry golden hair that covered most of his cheeks from ear to jaw. His eyes werea pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolish than most had once jestedthat even Lord Tywin’s shit was flecked with gold. Some said the man was stillalive, deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock. Ser Kevan Lannister, his father’s only surviving brother, was sharing aflagon of ale with Lord Tywin when Tyrion entered the common room. His unclewas portly and balding, with a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the lineof his massive jaw. Ser Kevan saw him first. “Tyrion,” he said in surprise.

“Uncle,” Tyrion said, bowing. “And my lord father. What a pleasure to findyou here.” Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long,searching look. “I see that the rumors of your demise were unfounded.” “Sorry to disappoint you, Father,” Tyrion said. “No need to leap up andembrace me, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” He crossed the room totheir table, acutely conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle withevery step. Whenever his father’s eyes were on him, he became uncomfortablyaware of all his deformities and shortcomings. “Kind of you to go to war forme,” he said as he climbed into a chair and helped himself to a cup of hisfather’s ale. “By my lights, it was you who started this,” Lord Tywin replied. “Yourbrother Jaime would never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of awoman.” “That’s one way we differ, Jaime and I. He’s taller as well, you may havenoticed.” His father ignored the sally. “The honor of our House was at stake. I had nochoice but to ride. No man sheds Lannister blood with impunity.” “Hear Me Roar,” Tyrion said, grinning. The Lannister words. “Truth betold, none of my blood was actually shed, although it was a close thing once ortwice. Morrec and Jyck were killed.” “I suppose you will be wanting some new men.” “Don’t trouble yourself, Father, I’ve acquired a few of my own.” He tried aswallow of the ale. It was brown and yeasty, so thick you could almost chew it.Very fine, in truth. A pity his father had hanged the innkeep. “How is your wargoing?” His uncle answered. “Well enough, for the nonce. Ser Edmure had scatteredsmall troops of men along his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord fatherand I were able to destroy most of them piecemeal before they could regroup.” “Your brother has been covering himself with glory,” his father said. “Hesmashed the Lords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massedpower of the Tullys under the walls of Riverrun. The lords of the Trident havebeen put to rout. Ser Edmure Tully was taken captive, with many of his knightsand bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, where

Jaime has them under siege. The rest fled to their own strongholds.” “Your father and I have been marching on each in turn,” Ser Kevan said.“With Lord Blackwood gone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yieldedHarrenhal for want of men to defend it. Ser Gregor burnt out the Pipers and theBrackens…” “Leaving you unopposed?” Tyrion said. “Not wholly,” Ser Kevan said. “The Mallisters still hold Seagard and WalderFrey is marshaling his levies at the Twins.” “No matter,” Lord Tywin said. “Frey only takes the field when the scent ofvictory is in the air, and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks thestrength to fight alone. Once Jaime takes Riverrun, they will both be quickenough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns come forth to opposeus, this war is good as won.” “I would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you,” Tyrion said.“The Starks are another matter. Lord Eddard—” “—is our hostage,” his father said. “He will lead no armies while he rots in adungeon under the Red Keep.” “No,” Ser Kevan agreed, “but his son has called the banners and sits at MoatCailin with a strong host around him.” “No sword is strong until it’s been tempered,” Lord Tywin declared. “TheStark boy is a child. No doubt he likes the sound of warhorns well enough, andthe sight of his banners fluttering in the wind, but in the end it comes down tobutcher’s work. I doubt he has the stomach for it.” Things had gotten interesting while he’d been away, Tyrion reflected. “Andwhat is our fearless monarch doing whilst all this ‘butcher’s work’ is beingdone?” he wondered. “How has my lovely and persuasive sister gotten Robert toagree to the imprisonment of his dear friend Ned?” “Robert Baratheon is dead,” his father told him. “Your nephew reigns inKing’s Landing.” That did take Tyrion aback. “My sister, you mean.” He took another gulp ofale. The realm would be a much different place with Cersei ruling in place of herhusband. “If you have a mind to make yourself of use, I will give you a command,”

his father said. “Marq Piper and Karyl Vance are loose in our rear, raiding ourlands across the Red Fork.” Tyrion made a tsking sound. “The gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I’dbe glad to punish such rudeness, Father, but the truth is, I have pressing businesselsewhere.” “Do you?” Lord Tywin did not seem awed. “We also have a pair of NedStark’s afterthoughts making a nuisance of themselves by harassing my foragingparties. Beric Dondarrion, some young lordling with delusions of valor. He hasthat fat jape of a priest with him, the one who likes to set his sword on fire. Doyou think you might be able to deal with them as you scamper off? Withoutmaking too much a botch of it?” Tyrion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “Father, itwarms my heart to think that you might entrust me with… what, twenty men?Fifty? Are you sure you can spare so many? Well, no matter. If I should comeacross Thoros and Lord Beric, I shall spank them both.” He climbed down fromhis chair and waddled to the sideboard, where a wheel of veined white cheese satsurrounded by fruit. “First, though, I have some promises of my own to keep,”he said as he sliced off a wedge. “I shall require three thousand helms and asmany hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steel spearheads, maces, battleaxes,gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this—” The door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrion almostdropped his cheese. Ser Kevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guardwent flying across the room to smash against the hearth. As he tumbled downinto the cold ashes, his lion helm askew, Shagga snapped the man’s sword in twoover a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into thecommon room. He was preceded by his stench, riper than the cheese andoverpowering in the closed space. “Little redcape,” he snarled, “when next youbare steel on Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off your manhood and roast it inthe fire.” “What, no goats?” Tyrion said, taking a bite of cheese. The other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn withthem. The sellsword gave Tyrion a rueful shrug. “Who might you be?” Lord Tywin asked, cool as snow. “They followed me home, Father,” Tyrion explained. “May I keep them?

They don’t eat much.” No one was smiling. “By what right do you savages intrude on ourcouncils?” demanded Ser Kevan. “Savages, lowlander?” Conn might have been handsome if you washed him.“We are free men, and free men by rights sit on all war councils.” “Which one is the lion lord?” Chella asked. “They are both old men,” announced Timett son of Timett, who had yet tosee his twentieth year. Ser Kevan’s hand went to his sword hilt, but his brother placed two fingerson his wrist and held him fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. “Tyrion, haveyou forgotten your courtesies? Kindly acquaint us with our… honored guests.” Tyrion licked his fingers. “With pleasure,” he said. “The fair maid is Chelladaughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears.” “I’m no maid,” Chella protested. “My sons have taken fifty ears amongthem.” “May they take fifty more.” Tyrion waddled away from her. “This is Connson of Coratt. Shagga son of Dolf is the one who looks like Casterly Rock withhair. They are Stone Crows. Here is Ulf son of Umar of the Moon Brothers, andhere Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn, asellsword of no particular allegiance. He has already changed sides twice in theshort time I’ve known him, you and he ought to get on famously, Father.” ToBronn and the clansmen he said, “May I present my lord father, Tywin son ofTytos of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield ofLannisport, and once and future Hand of the King.” Lord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. “Even in the west, we know theprowess of the warrior clans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings youdown from your strongholds, my lords?” “Horses,” said Shagga. “A promise of silk and steel,” said Timett son of Timett. Tyrion was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Valeof Arryn to a smoking wasteland, but he was never given the chance. The doorbanged open again. The messenger gave Tyrion’s clansmen a quick, queer lookas he dropped to one knee before Lord Tywin. “My lord,” he said, “Ser Addam

bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway.” Lord Tywin Lannister did not smile. Lord Tywin never smiled, but Tyrionhad learned to read his father’s pleasure all the same, and it was there on hisface. “So the wolfling is leaving his den to play among the lions,” he said in avoice of quiet satisfaction. “Splendid. Return to Ser Addam and tell him to fallback. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him toharass their flanks and draw them farther south.” “It will be as you command.” The rider took his leave. “We are well situated here,” Ser Kevan pointed out. “Close to the ford andringed by pits and spikes. If they are coming south, I say let them come, andbreak themselves against us.” “The boy may hang back or lose his courage when he sees our numbers,”Lord Tywin replied. “The sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be freeto deal with Stannis Baratheon. Tell the drummers to beat assembly, and sendword to Jaime that I am marching against Robb Stark.” “As you will,” Ser Kevan said. Tyrion watched with a grim fascination as his lord father turned next to thehalf-wild clansmen. “It is said that the men of the mountain clans are warriorswithout fear.” “It is said truly,” Conn of the Stone Crows answered. “And the women,” Chella added. “Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promisedyou, and more,” Lord Tywin told them. “Would you pay us with our own coin?” Ulf son of Umar said. “Why shouldwe need the father’s promise, when we have the son’s?” “I said nothing of need,” Lord Tywin replied. “My words were courtesy,nothing more. You need not join us. The men of the winterlands are made of ironand ice, and even my boldest knights fear to face them.” Oh, deftly done, Tyrion thought, smiling crookedly. “The Burned Men fear nothing. Timett son of Timett will ride with thelions.” “Wherever the Burned Men go, the Stone Crows have been there first,”Conn declared hotly. “We ride as well.”

“Shagga son of Dolf will chop off their manhoods and feed them to thecrows.” “We will ride with you, lion lord,” Chella daughter of Cheyk agreed, “butonly if your halfman son goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises.Until we hold the steel he has pledged us, his life is ours.” Lord Tywin turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son. “Joy,” Tyrion said with a resigned smile.

SANSAThe walls of the throne room had been stripped bare, the hunting tapestries thatKing Robert loved taken down and stacked in the corner in an untidy heap. Ser Mandon Moore went to take his place under the throne beside two of hisfellows of the Kingsguard. Sansa hovered by the door, for once unguarded. Thequeen had given her freedom of the castle as a reward for being good, yet evenso, she was escorted everywhere she went. “Honor guards for my daughter-to-be,” the queen called them, but they did not make Sansa feel honored. “Freedom of the castle” meant that she could go wherever she chose withinthe Red Keep so long as she promised not to go beyond the walls, a promiseSansa had been more than willing to give. She couldn’t have gone beyond thewalls anyway. The gates were watched day and night by Janos Slynt’s goldcloaks, and Lannister house guards were always about as well. Besides, even ifshe could leave the castle, where would she go? It was enough that she couldwalk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella’s garden, and visit the sept to pray forher father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks keptthe old gods. This was the first court session of Joffrey’s reign, so Sansa looked aboutnervously. A line of Lannister house guards stood beneath the western windows,a line of gold-cloaked City Watchmen beneath the east. Of smallfolk andcommoners, she saw no sign, but under the gallery a cluster of lords great andsmall milled restlessly. There were no more than twenty, where a hundred hadbeen accustomed to wait upon King Robert. Sansa slipped in among them, murmuring greetings as she worked her waytoward the front. She recognized black-skinned Jalabhar Xho, gloomy Ser AronSantagar, the Redwyne twins Horror and Slobber… only none of them seemed torecognize her. Or if they did, they shied away as if she had the grey plague.Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit ofcoughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser BalonSwann whispered in his ear and he turned away. And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansawondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet

her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time. Grand Maester Pycelle was seated alone at the council table, seeminglyasleep, his hands clasped together atop his beard. She saw Lord Varys hurry intothe hall, his feet making no sound. A moment later Lord Baelish entered throughthe tall doors in the rear, smiling. He chatted amiably with Ser Balon and SerDontos as he made his way to the front. Butterflies fluttered nervously in Sansa’sstomach. I shouldn’t be afraid, she told herself. I have nothing to be afraid of, itwill all come out well, Joff loves me and the queen does too, she said so. A herald’s voice rang out. “All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the HousesBaratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar,and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. All hail his lady mother,Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of theRealm.” Ser Barristan Selmy, resplendent in white plate, led them in. Ser ArysOakheart escorted the queen, while Ser Boros Blount walked beside Joffrey, sosix of the Kingsguard were now in the hall, all the White Swords save JaimeLannister alone. Her prince—no, her king now!—took the steps of the IronThrone two at a time, while his mother was seated with the council. Joff woreplush black velvets slashed with crimson, a shimmering cloth-of-gold cape witha high collar, and on his head a golden crown crusted with rubies and blackdiamonds. When Joffrey turned to look out over the hall, his eye caught Sansa’s. Hesmiled, seated himself, and spoke. “It is a king’s duty to punish the disloyal andreward those who are true. Grand Maester Pycelle, I command you to read mydecrees.” Pycelle pushed himself to his feet. He was clad in a magnificent robe ofthick red velvet, with an ermine collar and shiny gold fastenings. From adrooping sleeve, heavy with gilded scrollwork, he drew a parchment, unrolled it,and began to read a long list of names, commanding each in the name of kingand council to present themselves and swear their fealty to Joffrey. Failing that,they would be adjudged traitors, their lands and titles forfeit to the throne. The names he read made Sansa hold her breath. Lord Stannis Baratheon, hislady wife, his daughter. Lord Renly Baratheon. Both Lord Royces and their sons.Ser Loras Tyrell. Lord Mace Tyrell, his brothers, uncles, sons. The red priest,

Thoros of Myr. Lord Beric Dondarrion. Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, the littleLord Robert. Lord Hoster Tully, his brother Ser Brynden, his son Ser Edmure.Lord Jason Mallister. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Lord Tytos Blackwood.Lord Walder Frey and his heir Ser Stevron. Lord Karyl Vance. Lord JonosBracken. Lady Sheila Whent. Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, and all his sons.So many, she thought as Pycelle read on and on, it will take a whole flock ofravens to send out these commands. And at the end, near last, came the names Sansa had been dreading. LadyCatelyn Stark. Robb Stark. Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Arya Stark. Sansastifled a gasp. Arya. They wanted Arya to present herself and swear an oath… itmust mean her sister had fled on the galley, she must be safe at Winterfell bynow… Grand Maester Pycelle rolled up the list, tucked it up his left sleeve, andpulled another parchment from his right. He cleared his throat and resumed. “Inthe place of the traitor Eddard Stark, it is the wish of His Grace that TywinLannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, take up the office ofHand of the King, to speak with his voice, lead his armies against his enemies,and carry out his royal will. So the king has decreed. The small council consents. “In the place of the traitor Stannis Baratheon, it is the wish of His Grace thathis lady mother, the Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, who has ever been hisstaunchest support, be seated upon his small council, that she may help him rulewisely and with justice. So the king has decreed. The small council consents.” Sansa heard a soft murmuring from the lords around her, but it was quicklystilled. Pycelle continued. “It is also the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant, Janos Slynt,Commander of the City Watch of King’s Landing, be at once raised to the rankof lord and granted the ancient seat of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands andincomes, and that his sons and grandsons shall hold these honors after him untilthe end of time. It is moreover his command that Lord Slynt be seatedimmediately upon his small council, to assist in the governance of the realm. Sothe king has decreed. The small council consents.” Sansa glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye as Janos Slynt made hisentrance. This time the muttering was louder and angrier. Proud lords whosehouses went back thousands of years made way reluctantly for the balding, frog-

faced commoner as he marched past. Golden scales had been sewn onto theblack velvet of his doublet and rang together softly with each step. His cloak waschecked black-and-gold satin. Two ugly boys who must have been his sons wentbefore him, struggling with the weight of a heavy metal shield as tall as theywere. For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. Thesight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansa’s arms. As Lord Slynt took his place, Grand Maester Pycelle resumed. “Lastly, inthese times of treason and turmoil, with our beloved Robert so lately dead, it isthe view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey is of paramountimportance…” He looked to the queen. Cersei stood. “Ser Barristan Selmy, stand forth.” Ser Barristan had been standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, as still as anystatue, but now he went to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Grace, I amyours to command.” “Rise, Ser Barristan,” Cersei Lannister said. “You may remove your helm.” “My lady?” Standing, the old knight took off his high white helm, though hedid not seem to understand why. “You have served the realm long and faithfully, good ser, and every man andwoman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. Yet now I fear your service isat an end. It is the wish of king and council that you lay down your heavyburden.” “My… burden? I fear I… I do not…” The new-made lord, Janos Slynt, spoke up, his voice heavy and blunt. “HerGrace is trying to tell you that you are relieved as Lord Commander of theKingsguard.” The tall, white-haired knight seemed to shrink as he stood there, scarcelybreathing. “Your Grace,” he said at last. “The Kingsguard is a SwornBrotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death may relieve the LordCommander of his sacred trust.” “Whose death, Ser Barristan?” The queen’s voice was soft as silk, but herwords carried the whole length of the hall. “Yours, or your king’s?” “You let my father die,” Joffrey said accusingly from atop the Iron Throne.“You’re too old to protect anybody.”

Sansa watched as the knight peered up at his new king. She had never seenhim look his years before, yet now he did. “Your Grace,” he said. “I was chosenfor the White Swords in my twenty-third year. It was all I had ever dreamed,from the moment I first took sword in hand. I gave up all claim to my ancestralkeep. The girl I was to wed married my cousin in my place, I had no need ofland or sons, my life would be lived for the realm. Ser Gerold Hightower himselfheard my vows… to ward the king with all my strength… to give my blood forhis… I fought beside the White Bull and Prince Lewyn of Dorne… beside SerArthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Before I served your father, I helpedshield King Aerys, and his father Jaehaerys before him… three kings…” “And all of them dead,” Littlefinger pointed out. “Your time is done,” Cersei Lannister announced. “Joffrey requires menaround him who are young and strong. The council has determined that SerJaime Lannister will take your place as the Lord Commander of Sworn Brothersof the White Swords.” “The Kingslayer,” Ser Barristan said, his voice hard with contempt. “Thefalse knight who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn todefend.” “Have a care for your words, ser,” the queen warned. “You are speaking ofour beloved brother, your king’s own blood.” Lord Varys spoke, gentler than the others. “We are not unmindful of yourservice, good ser. Lord Tywin Lannister has generously agreed to grant you ahandsome tract of land north of Lannisport, beside the sea, with gold and mensufficient to build you a stout keep, and servants to see to your every need.” Ser Barristan looked up sharply. “A hall to die in, and men to bury me. Ithank you, my lords… but I spit upon your pity.” He reached up and undid theclasps that held his cloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered fromhis shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. His helmet dropped with a clang. “Iam a knight,” he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate andlet that fall as well. “I shall die a knight.” “A naked knight, it would seem,” quipped Littlefinger. They all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lords standingattendance, Janos Slynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even theother men of the Kingsguard, the five who had been his brothers until a moment

ago. Surely that must have hurt the most, Sansa thought. Her heart went out tothe gallant old man as he stood shamed and red-faced, too angry to speak.Finally he drew his sword. Sansa heard someone gasp. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn moved forward toconfront him, but Ser Barristan froze them in place with a look that drippedcontempt. “Have no fear, sers, your king is safe… no thanks to you. Even now, Icould cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you wouldserve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you is fit to wear the white.” He flunghis sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. “Here, boy. Melt it down and add it tothe others, if you like. It will do you more good than the swords in the hands ofthese five. Perhaps Lord Stannis will chance to sit on it when he takes yourthrone.” He took the long way out, his steps ringing loud against the floor andechoing off the bare stone walls. Lords and ladies parted to let him pass. Notuntil the pages had closed the great oak-and-bronze doors behind him did Sansahear sounds again: soft voices, uneasy stirrings, the shuffle of papers from thecouncil table. “He called me boy,” Joffrey said peevishly, sounding younger thanhis years. “He talked about my uncle Stannis too.” “Idle talk,” said Varys the eunuch. “Without meaning…” “He could be making plots with my uncles. I want him seized andquestioned.” No one moved. Joffrey raised his voice. “I said, I want him seized!” Janos Slynt rose from the council table. “My gold cloaks will see to it, YourGrace.” “Good,” said King Joffrey. Lord Janos strode from the hall, his ugly sonsdouble-stepping to keep up as they lugged the great metal shield with the arms ofHouse Slynt. “Your Grace,” Littlefinger reminded the king. “If we might resume, theseven are now six. We find ourselves in need of a new sword for yourKingsguard.” Joffrey smiled. “Tell them, Mother.” “The king and council have determined that no man in the Seven Kingdomsis more fit to guard and protect His Grace than his sworn shield, SandorClegane.” “How do you like that, dog?” King Joffrey asked.

The Hound’s scarred face was hard to read. He took a long moment toconsider. “Why not? I have no lands nor wife to forsake, and who’d care if Idid?” The burned side of his mouth twisted. “But I warn you, I’ll say no knight’svows.” “The Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard have always been knights,” SerBoros said firmly. “Until now,” the Hound said in his deep rasp, and Ser Boros fell silent. When the king’s herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment wasalmost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She wasdressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had takenspecial care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that thequeen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she’d had them dye it blackand you couldn’t see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hoursand finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain. The herald’s voice boomed out. “If any man in this hall has other matters toset before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence.” Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give mecourage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped asidesilently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be asstrong as my lady mother. “Your Grace,” she called out in a soft, tremulousvoice. The height of the Iron Throne gave Joffrey a better vantage point thananyone else in the hall. He was the first to see her. “Come forward, my lady,” hecalled out, smiling. His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does loveme, he does. Sansa lifted her head and walked toward him, not too slow and nottoo fast. She must not let them see how nervous she was. “The Lady Sansa, of House Stark,” the herald cried. She stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan’s white cloaklay puddled on the floor beside his helm and breastplate. “Do you have somebusiness for king and council, Sansa?” the queen asked from the council table. “I do.” She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up ather prince on his fearsome black throne. “As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy

for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King.” She hadpracticed the words a hundred times. The queen sighed. “Sansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you abouttraitor’s blood?” “Your father has committed grave and terrible crimes, my lady,” GrandMaester Pycelle intoned. “Ah, poor sad thing,” sighed Varys. “She is only a babe, my lords, she doesnot know what she asks.” Sansa had eyes only for Joffrey. He must listen to me, he must, she thought.The king shifted on his seat, “Let her speak,” he commanded. “I want to hearwhat she says.” “Thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa smiled, a shy secret smile, just for him. Hewas listening. She knew he would. “Treason is a noxious weed,” Pycelle declared solemnly. “It must be torn up,root and stem and seed, lest new traitors sprout from every roadside.” “Do you deny your father’s crime?” Lord Baelish asked. “No, my lords.” Sansa knew better than that. “I know he must be punished.All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was KingRobert’s friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wantedto be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly orLord Stannis or… or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise…” King Joffrey leaned forward, hands grasping the arms of the throne. Brokensword points fanned out between his fingers. “He said I wasn’t the king. Whydid he say that?” “His leg was broken,” Sansa replied eagerly. “It hurt ever so much, MaesterPycelle was giving him milk of the poppy, and they say that milk of the poppyfills your head with clouds. Otherwise he would never have said it.” Varys said, “A child’s faith… such sweet innocence… and yet, they saywisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes.” “Treason is treason,” Pycelle replied at once. Joffrey rocked restlessly on the throne. “Mother?” Cersei Lannister considered Sansa thoughtfully. “If Lord Eddard were toconfess his crime,” she said at last, “we would know he had repented his folly.”

Joffrey pushed himself to his feet. Please, Sansa thought, please, please, bethe king I know you are, good and kind and noble, please. “Do you have anymore to say?” he asked her. “Only… that as you love me, you do me this kindness, my prince,” Sansasaid. King Joffrey looked her up and down. “Your sweet words have moved me,”he said gallantly, nodding, as if to say all would be well. “I shall do as you ask…but first your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I’m the king,or there will be no mercy for him.” “He will,” Sansa said, heart soaring. “Oh, I know he will.”

EDDARDThe straw on the floor stank of urine. There was no window, no bed, not even aslop bucket. He remembered walls of pale red stone festooned with patches ofnitre, a grey door of splintered wood, four inches thick and studded with iron. Hehad seen them, briefly, a quick glimpse as they shoved him inside. Once the doorhad slammed shut, he had seen no more. The dark was absolute. He had as wellbeen blind. Or dead. Buried with his king. “Ah, Robert,” he murmured as his gropinghand touched a cold stone wall, his leg throbbing with every motion. Heremembered the jest the king had shared in the crypts of Winterfell, as the Kingsof Winter looked on with cold stone eyes. The king eats, Robert had said, and theHand takes the shit. How he had laughed. Yet he had gotten it wrong. The kingdies, Ned Stark thought, and the Hand is buried. The dungeon was under the Red Keep, deeper than he dared imagine. Heremembered the old stories about Maegor the Cruel, who murdered all themasons who labored on his castle, so they might never reveal its secrets. He damned them all: Littlefinger, Janos Slynt and his gold cloaks, the queen,the Kingslayer, Pycelle and Varys and Ser Barristan, even Lord Renly, Robert’sown blood, who had run when he was needed most. Yet in the end he blamedhimself. “Fool,” he cried to the darkness, “thrice-damned blind fool.” Cersei Lannister’s face seemed to float before him in the darkness. Her hairwas full of sunlight, but there was mockery in her smile. “When you play thegame of thrones, you win or you die,” she whispered. Ned had played and lost,and his men had paid the price of his folly with their life’s blood. When he thought of his daughters, he would have wept gladly, but the tearswould not come. Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and hisrage froze hard inside him. When he kept very still, his leg did not hurt so much, so he did his best to lieunmoving. For how long he could not say. There was no sun and no moon. Hecould not see to mark the walls. Ned closed his eyes and opened them; it madeno difference. He slept and woke and slept again. He did not know which wasmore painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark

disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there wasnothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares.The thought of Cat was as painful as a bed of nettles. He wondered where shewas, what she was doing. He wondered whether he would ever see her again. Hours turned to days, or so it seemed. He could feel a dull ache in hisshattered leg, an itch beneath the plaster. When he touched his thigh, the fleshwas hot to his fingers. The only sound was his breathing. After a time, he beganto talk aloud, just to hear a voice. He made plans to keep himself sane, builtcastles of hope in the dark. Robert’s brothers were out in the world, raisingarmies at Dragonstone and Storm’s End. Alyn and Harwin would return toKing’s Landing with the rest of his household guard once they had dealt with SerGregor. Catelyn would raise the north when the word reached her, and the lordsof river and mountain and Vale would join her. He found himself thinking of Robert more and more. He saw the king as hehad been in the flower of his youth, tall and handsome, his great antlered helmon his head, his warhammer in hand, sitting his horse like a horned god. Heheard his laughter in the dark, saw his eyes, blue and clear as mountain lakes.“Look at us, Ned,” Robert said. “Gods, how did we come to this? You here, andme killed by a pig. We won a throne together…” I failed you, Robert, Ned thought. He could not say the words. I lied to you,hid the truth. I let them kill you. The king heard him. “You stiff-necked fool,” he muttered, “too proud tolisten. Can you eat pride, Stark? Will honor shield your children?” Cracks randown his face, fissures opening in the flesh, and he reached up and ripped themask away. It was not Robert at all; it was Littlefinger, grinning, mocking him.When he opened his mouth to speak, his lies turned to pale grey moths and tookwing. Ned was half-asleep when the footsteps came down the hall. At first hethought he dreamt them; it had been so long since he had heard anything but thesound of his own voice. Ned was feverish by then, his leg a dull agony, his lipsparched and cracked. When the heavy wooden door creaked open, the suddenlight was painful to his eyes. A gaoler thrust a jug at him. The clay was cool and beaded with moisture.Ned grasped it with both hands and gulped eagerly. Water ran from his mouth

and dripped down through his beard. He drank until he thought he would be sick.“How long…?” he asked weakly when he could drink no more. The gaoler was a scarecrow of a man with a rat’s face and frayed beard, cladin a mail shirt and a leather half cape. “No talking,” he said as he wrenched thejug from Ned’s hands. “Please,” Ned said, “my daughters…” The door crashed shut. He blinked asthe light vanished, lowered his head to his chest, and curled up on the straw. Itno longer stank of urine and shit. It no longer smelled at all. He could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping. Thememory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. It was theyear of false spring, and he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to thetourney at Harrenhal. He could see the deep green of the grass, and smell thepollen on the wind. Warm days and cool nights and the sweet taste of wine. Heremembered Brandon’s laughter, and Robert’s berserk valor in the melee, theway he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right. He remembered JaimeLannister, a golden youth in scaled white armor, kneeling on the grass in front ofthe king’s pavilion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys.Afterward, Ser Oswell Whent helped Jaime to his feet, and the White Bullhimself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, fastened the snowy cloak ofthe Kingsguard about his shoulders. All six White Swords were there towelcome their newest brother. Yet when the jousting began, the day belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. Thecrown prince wore the armor he would die in: gleaming black plate with thethree-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume ofscarlet silk streamed behind him when he rode, and it seemed no lance couldtouch him. Brandon fell to him, and Bronze Yohn Royce, and even the splendidSer Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Robert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circledthe field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion’scrown. Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when PrinceRhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess EliaMartell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still:a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. Ned Stark reached out his hand to grasp the flowery crown, but beneath the

pale blue petals the thorns lay hidden. He felt them clawing at his skin, sharp andcruel, saw the slow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling,in the dark. Promise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She hadloved the scent of winter roses. “Gods save me,” Ned wept. “I am going mad.” The gods did not deign to answer. Each time the turnkey brought him water, he told himself another day hadpassed. At first he would beg the man for some word of his daughters and theworld beyond his cell. Grunts and kicks were his only replies. Later, when thestomach cramps began, he begged for food instead. It made no matter; he wasnot fed. Perhaps the Lannisters meant for him to starve to death. “No,” he toldhimself. If Cersei had wanted him dead, he would have been cut down in thethrone room with his men. She wanted him alive. Weak, desperate, yet alive.Catelyn held her brother; she dare not kill him or the Imp’s life would be forfeitas well. From outside his cell came the rattle of iron chains. As the door creakedopen, Ned put a hand to the damp wall and pushed himself toward the light. Theglare of a torch made him squint. “Food,” he croaked. “Wine,” a voice answered. It was not the rat-faced man; this gaoler wasstouter, shorter, though he wore the same leather half cape and spiked steel cap.“Drink, Lord Eddard.” He thrust a wineskin into Ned’s hands. The voice was strangely familiar, yet it took Ned Stark a moment to place it.“Varys?” he said groggily when it came. He touched the man’s face. “I’m not…not dreaming this. You’re here.” The eunuch’s plump cheeks were covered witha dark stubble of beard. Ned felt the coarse hair with his fingers. Varys hadtransformed himself into a grizzled turnkey, reeking of sweat and sour wine.“How did you… what sort of magician are you?” “A thirsty one,” Varys said. “Drink, my lord.” Ned’s hands fumbled at the skin. “Is this the same poison they gaveRobert?” “You wrong me,” Varys said sadly. “Truly, no one loves a eunuch. Give methe skin.” He drank, a trickle of red leaking from the corner of his plump mouth.“Not the equal of the vintage you offered me the night of the tourney, but no

more poisonous than most,” he concluded, wiping his lips. “Here.” Ned tried a swallow. “Dregs.” He felt as though he were about to bring thewine back up. “All men must swallow the sour with the sweet. High lords and eunuchsalike. Your hour has come, my lord.” “My daughters…” “The younger girl escaped Ser Meryn and fled,” Varys told him. “I have notbeen able to find her. Nor have the Lannisters. A kindness, there. Our new kingloves her not. Your older girl is still betrothed to Joffrey. Cersei keeps her close.She came to court a few days ago to plead that you be spared. A pity youcouldn’t have been there, you would have been touched.” He leaned forwardintently. “I trust you realize that you are a dead man, Lord Eddard?” “The queen will not kill me,” Ned said. His head swam; the wine wasstrong, and it had been too long since he’d eaten. “Cat… Cat holds herbrother…” “The wrong brother,” Varys sighed. “And lost to her, in any case. She let theImp slip through her fingers. I expect he is dead by now, somewhere in theMountains of the Moon.” “If that is true, slit my throat and have done with it.” He was dizzy from thewine, tired and heartsick. “Your blood is the last thing I desire.” Ned frowned. “When they slaughtered my guard, you stood beside thequeen and watched, and said not a word.” “And would again. I seem to recall that I was unarmed, unarmored, andsurrounded by Lannister swords.” The eunuch looked at him curiously, tilting hishead. “When I was a young boy, before I was cut, I traveled with a troupe ofmummers through the Free Cities. They taught me that each man has a role toplay, in life as well as mummery. So it is at court. The King’s Justice must befearsome, the master of coin must be frugal, the Lord Commander of theKingsguard must be valiant… and the master of whisperers must be sly andobsequious and without scruple. A courageous informer would be as useless as acowardly knight.” He took the wineskin back and drank. Ned studied the eunuch’s face, searching for truth beneath the mummer’s

scars and false stubble. He tried some more wine. This time it went down easier.“Can you free me from this pit?” “I could… but will I? No. Questions would be asked, and the answers wouldlead back to me.” Ned had expected no more. “You are blunt.” “A eunuch has no honor, and a spider does not enjoy the luxury of scruples,my lord.” “Would you at least consent to carry a message out for me?” “That would depend on the message. I will gladly provide you with paperand ink, if you like. And when you have written what you will, I will take theletter and read it, and deliver it or not, as best serves my own ends.” “Your own ends. What ends are those, Lord Varys?” “Peace,” Varys replied without hesitation. “If there was one soul in King’sLanding who was truly desperate to keep Robert Baratheon alive, it was me.” Hesighed. “For fifteen years I protected him from his enemies, but I could notprotect him from his friends. What strange fit of madness led you to tell thequeen that you had learned the truth of Joffrey’s birth?” “The madness of mercy,” Ned admitted. “Ah,” said Varys. “To be sure. You are an honest and honorable man, LordEddard. Ofttimes I forget that. I have met so few of them in my life.” He glancedaround the cell. “When I see what honesty and honor have won you, Iunderstand why.” Ned Stark laid his head back against the damp stone wall and closed hiseyes. His leg was throbbing. “The king’s wine… did you question Lancel?” “Oh, indeed. Cersei gave him the wineskins, and told him it was Robert’sfavorite vintage.” The eunuch shrugged. “A hunter lives a perilous life. If theboar had not done for Robert, it would have been a fall from a horse, the bite of awood adder, an arrow gone astray… the forest is the abbatoir of the gods. It wasnot wine that killed the king. It was your mercy.” Ned had feared as much. “Gods forgive me.” “If there are gods,” Varys said, “I expect they will. The queen would nothave waited long in any case. Robert was becoming unruly, and she needed to berid of him to free her hands to deal with his brothers. They are quite a pair,

Stannis and Renly. The iron gauntlet and the silk glove.” He wiped his mouthwith the back of his hand. “You have been foolish, my lord. You ought to haveheeded Littlefinger when he urged you to support Joffrey’s succession.” “How… how could you know of that?” Varys smiled. “I know, that’s all that need concern you. I also know that onthe morrow the queen will pay you a visit.” Slowly Ned raised his eyes. “Why?” “Cersei is frightened of you, my lord… but she has other enemies she fearseven more. Her beloved Jaime is fighting the river lords even now. Lysa Arrynsits in the Eyrie, ringed in stone and steel, and there is no love lost between herand the queen. In Dorne, the Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Eliaand her babes. And now your son marches down the Neck with a northern hostat his back.” “Robb is only a boy,” Ned said, aghast. “A boy with an army,” Varys said. “Yet only a boy, as you say. The king’sbrothers are the ones giving Cersei sleepless nights… Lord Stannis in particular.His claim is the true one, he is known for his prowess as a battle commander,and he is utterly without mercy. There is no creature on earth half so terrifying asa truly just man. No one knows what Stannis has been doing on Dragonstone,but I will wager you that he’s gathered more swords than seashells. So here isCersei’s nightmare: while her father and brother spend their power battlingStarks and Tullys, Lord Stannis will land, proclaim himself king, and lop off herson’s curly blond head… and her own in the bargain, though I truly believe shecares more about the boy.” “Stannis Baratheon is Robert’s true heir,” Ned said. “The throne is his byrights. I would welcome his ascent.” Varys tsked. “Cersei will not want to hear that, I promise you. Stannis maywin the throne, but only your rotting head will remain to cheer unless you guardthat tongue of yours. Sansa begged so sweetly, it would be a shame if you threwit all away. You are being given your life back, if you’ll take it. Cersei is no fool.She knows a tame wolf is of more use than a dead one.” “You want me to serve the woman who murdered my king, butchered mymen, and crippled my son?” Ned’s voice was thick with disbelief. “I want you to serve the realm,” Varys said. “Tell the queen that you will

confess your vile treason, command your son to lay down his sword, andproclaim Joffrey as the true heir. Offer to denounce Stannis and Renly asfaithless usurpers. Our green-eyed lioness knows you are a man of honor. If youwill give her the peace she needs and the time to deal with Stannis, and pledge tocarry her secret to your grave, I believe she will allow you to take the black andlive out the rest of your days on the Wall, with your brother and that basebornson of yours.” The thought of Jon filled Ned with a sense of shame, and a sorrow too deepfor words. If only he could see the boy again, sit and talk with him… pain shotthrough his broken leg, beneath the filthy grey plaster of his cast. He winced, hisfingers opening and closing helplessly. “Is this your own scheme,” he gasped outat Varys, “or are you in league with Littlefinger?” That seemed to amuse the eunuch. “I would sooner wed the Black Goat ofQohor. Littlefinger is the second most devious man in the Seven Kingdoms. Oh,I feed him choice whispers, sufficient so that he thinks I am his… just as I allowCersei to believe I am hers.” “And just as you let me believe that you were mine. Tell me, Lord Varys,who do you truly serve?” Varys smiled thinly. “Why, the realm, my good lord, how ever could youdoubt that? I swear it by my lost manhood. I serve the realm, and the realmneeds peace.” He finished the last swallow of wine, and tossed the empty skinaside. “So what is your answer, Lord Eddard? Give me your word that you’ll tellthe queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling.” “If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life isnot so precious to me as that.” “Pity.” The eunuch stood. “And your daughter’s life, my lord? How preciousis that?” A chill pierced Ned’s heart. “My daughter…” “Surely you did not think I’d forgotten about your sweet innocent, my lord?The queen most certainly has not.” “No,” Ned pleaded, his voice cracking. “Varys, gods have mercy, do as youlike with me, but leave my daughter out of your schemes. Sansa’s no more than achild.” “Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar’s daughter. A precious little thing,

younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, didyou know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretendhe was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisterstaught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the daythey broke down her door.” Varys gave a long weary sigh, the sigh of a man whocarried all the sadness of the world in a sack upon his shoulders. “The HighSepton once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that’s true, Lord Eddard,tell me… why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lordsplay your game of thrones? Ponder it, if you would, while you wait upon thequeen. And spare a thought for this as well: The next visitor who calls on youcould bring you bread and cheese and the milk of the poppy for your pain… orhe could bring you Sansa’s head. “The choice, my dear lord Hand, is entirely yours.”

CATELYNAs the host trooped down the causeway through the black bogs of the Neck andspilled out into the riverlands beyond, Catelyn’s apprehensions grew. Shemasked her fears behind a face kept still and stern, yet they were there all thesame, growing with every league they crossed. Her days were anxious, hernights restless, and every raven that flew overhead made her clench her teeth. She feared for her lord father, and wondered at his ominous silence. Shefeared for her brother Edmure, and prayed that the gods would watch over him ifhe must face the Kingslayer in battle. She feared for Ned and her girls, and forthe sweet sons she had left behind at Winterfell. And yet there was nothing shecould do for any of them, and so she made herself put all thought of them aside.You must save your strength for Robb, she told herself. He is the only one youcan help. You must be as fierce and hard as the north, Catelyn Tully. You must bea Stark for true now, like your son. Robb rode at the front of the column, beneath the flapping white banner ofWinterfell. Each day he would ask one of his lords to join him, so they mightconfer as they marched; he honored every man in turn, showing no favorites,listening as his lord father had listened, weighing the words of one against theother. He has learned so much from Ned, she thought as she watched him, buthas he learned enough? The Blackfish had taken a hundred picked men and a hundred swift horsesand raced ahead to screen their movements and scout the way. The reports SerBrynden’s riders brought back did little to reassure her. Lord Tywin’s host wasstill many days to the south… but Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, hadassembled a force of near four thousand men at his castles on the Green Fork. “Late again,” Catelyn murmured when she heard. It was the Trident all over,damn the man. Her brother Edmure had called the banners; by rights, Lord Freyshould have gone to join the Tully host at Riverrun, yet here he sat. “Four thousand men,” Robb repeated, more perplexed than angry. “LordFrey cannot hope to fight the Lannisters by himself. Surely he means to join hispower to ours.” “Does he?” Catelyn asked. She had ridden forward to join Robb and Robett

Glover, his companion of the day. The vanguard spread out behind them, a slow-moving forest of lances and banners and spears. “I wonder. Expect nothing ofWalder Frey, and you will never be surprised.” “He’s your father’s bannerman.” “Some men take their oaths more seriously than others, Robb. And LordWalder was always friendlier with Casterly Rock than my father would haveliked. One of his sons is wed to Tywin Lannister’s sister. That means little ofitself, to be sure. Lord Walder has sired a great many children over the years, andthey must needs marry someone. Still…” “Do you think he means to betray us to the Lannisters, my lady?” RobettGlover asked gravely. Catelyn sighed. “If truth be told, I doubt even Lord Frey knows what LordFrey intends to do. He has an old man’s caution and a young man’s ambition,and has never lacked for cunning.” “We must have the Twins, Mother,” Robb said heatedly. “There is no otherway across the river. You know that.” “Yes. And so does Walder Frey, you can be sure of that.” That night they made camp on the southern edge of the bogs, halfwaybetween the kingsroad and the river. It was there Theon Greyjoy brought themfurther word from her uncle. “Ser Brynden says to tell you he’s crossed swordswith the Lannisters. There are a dozen scouts who won’t be reporting back toLord Tywin anytime soon. Or ever.” He grinned. “Ser Addam Marbrandcommands their outriders, and he’s pulling back south, burning as he goes. Heknows where we are, more or less, but the Blackfish vows he will not knowwhen we split.” “Unless Lord Frey tells him,” Catelyn said sharply. “Theon, when you returnto my uncle, tell him he is to place his best bowmen around the Twins, day andnight, with orders to bring down any raven they see leaving the battlements. Iwant no birds bringing word of my son’s movements to Lord Tywin.” “Ser Brynden has seen to it already, my lady,” Theon replied with a cockysmile. “A few more blackbirds, and we should have enough to bake a pie. I’llsave you their feathers for a hat.” She ought to have known that Brynden Blackfish would be well ahead ofher. “What have the Freys been doing while the Lannisters burn their fields and

plunder their holdfasts?” “There’s been some fighting between Ser Addam’s men and Lord Walder’s,”Theon answered. “Not a day’s ride from here, we found two Lannister scoutsfeeding the crows where the Freys had strung them up. Most of Lord Walder’sstrength remains massed at the Twins, though.” That bore Walder Frey’s seal beyond a doubt, Catelyn thought bitterly; holdback, wait, watch, take no risk unless forced to it. “If he’s been fighting the Lannisters, perhaps he does mean to hold to hisvows,” Robb said. Catelyn was less encouraged. “Defending his own lands is one thing, openbattle against Lord Tywin quite another.” Robb turned back to Theon Greyjoy. “Has the Blackfish found any otherway across the Green Fork?” Theon shook his head. “The river’s running high and fast. Ser Brynden saysit can’t be forded, not this far north.” “I must have that crossing!” Robb declared, fuming. “Oh, our horses mightbe able to swim the river, I suppose, but not with armored men on their backs.We’d need to build rafts to pole our steel across, helms and mail and lances, andwe don’t have the trees for that. Or the time. Lord Tywin is marching north…”He balled his hand into a fist. “Lord Frey would be a fool to try and bar our way,” Theon Greyjoy saidwith his customary easy confidence. “We have five times his numbers. You cantake the Twins if you need to, Robb.” “Not easily,” Catelyn warned them, “and not in time. While you weremounting your siege, Tywin Lannister would bring up his host and assault youfrom the rear.” Robb glanced from her to Greyjoy, searching for an answer and findingnone. For a moment he looked even younger than his fifteen years, despite hismail and sword and the stubble on his cheeks. “What would my lord father do?”he asked her. “Find a way across,” she told him. “Whatever it took.” The next morning it was Ser Brynden Tully himself who rode back to them.He had put aside the heavy plate and helm he’d worn as the Knight of the Gate