WINTERFELL

Bran was dreaming he was in the training yard, practicing his archery, like he did before he fell from the broken tower.

A raven cawed as it flew, landing on a cart of hay.

Bran lowered his bow, walking towards it.

The raven continued to caw, flying away and landing on a stone wolf statue.

Bran walked closer and the raven flew into the crypt, Bran followed and cautiously approached the raven.

The raven turned its head towards Bran, revealing it had a third eye.

Bran opened his eyes, waking up.

Summer was lying on the bed next to him.

Bran started to get up, remembering that his legs were paralyzed.

Old Nan sat next to the bed, knitting. "The little lord's been dreaming again."

Bran laid back.

Theon walked in.

Summer growled,

Theon looked at Bran. "We have visitors."

"I don't want to see anyone," Bran told him, grumpy.

"Really?" Theon asked. "If I was cooped up all day with no one but this old bat for company, I'd go mad. Anyway, you don't have a choice. Robb's waiting."

"I don't want to go," Bran answered.

"Neither do I," Theon told him. "But Robb's Lord of Winterfell, which means I do what he says and you do what I say. Hodor!"

Hodor bent down so he could enter the room, looking at Theon. "Hodor?"

"Help Bran down the hall," Theon instructed.

"Hodor," Hodor complied, walking towards the bed and picking up Bran.

>*~*<

Tyrion and Yoren stood in the Great Hall. Robb and Maester Luwin were sitting at the head table and several guards were also present. Robb's direwolf, Grey Wind was lying down in front of the table.

"I must say I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit," Tyrion said.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell," Robb replied.

Yoren nodded.

"Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I, eh, boy?" Tyrion asked.

"I'm not your boy, Lannister," Robb answered. "I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father is away."

"Then you might learn a lord's courtesy," Tyrion told him.

The doors opened and everyone looked at Hodor carried in Bran.

"So it's true," Tyrion said. "Hello, Bran." Hodor stopped as he and Bran both looked at Tyrion. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

"He has no memory of that day," Maester Luwin told him.

"Curious," Tyrion replied.

"Why are you here?" Robb asked.

Tyrion looked at Bran. "Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is beginning to hurt."

"Kneel, Hodor," Bran told him.

Hodor kneeled, sitting Bran on his knee.

"Do you like to ride, Bran?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes," Bran answered. "Well, I mean, I did like to.

"The boy has lost the use of his legs," Maester Luwin said.

"What of it?" Tyrion asked. "With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I'm not a cripple," Bran told him.

"Then I'm not a dwarf," Tyrion replied. "My father will rejoice to hear it. I have a gift for you." He handed Bran a scroll of paper. "Give that to your saddler. He'll provide the rest." Bran opened the scroll, seeing drawings of a special saddle. Tyrion looked at Robb and Maester Luwin. "You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice."

"Will I really be able to ride?" Bran asked.

"You will," Tyrion answered. "On horseback, you will be as tall as any of them."

"Is this some kind of trick?" Robb asked. "Why do you want to help him?"

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things," Tyrion answered.

Bran gave Tyrion a smile.

"You've done my brother a kindness," Robb told him. "The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

"Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark," Tyrion replied. "There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed and both of us can sleep easier."

Tyrion walked away, leaving.

>*~*<

Theon walked towards Tyrion, who was mounted on top of his horse. "Couldn't resist some northern arse? If you like redheads, ask for Ros."

"Come to see me off, Greyjoy?" Tyrion asked. "Kind of you. Your master doesn't seem to like Lannisters."

"He's not my master," Theon answered.

"No, of course not," Tyrion said. "What happened here? Where is Lady Stark? Why didn't she receive me?"

"She wasn't feeling well," Theon lied.

"She's not in Winterfell, is she?" Tyrion asked. "Where did she go?"

"Milady's whereabouts--" Theon started.

"Milady?" Tyrion repeated. "Your loyalty to your captors is touching." Theon looked away. "Tell me, how do you think Balon Greyjoy would feel if he could see his only surviving son has turned lackey? I still remember seeing my father's fleet burn in Lannisport, I believe your uncles were responsible."

"Must have been a pretty sight," Theon said.

"Nothing prettier than watching sailors burn alive," Tyrion told him. "Yes, a great victory for your people. Shame how it all turned out."

"We were outnumbered ten to one," Theon replied.

"A stupid rebellion, then," Tyrion stated. "I suppose your father realised that when your brothers died in battle. Now here you are, your enemy's squire."

"Careful, Imp," Theon warned him.

"I've offended you," Tyrion said. "Forgive me, it's been a rough morning. Anyway, don't despair. I'm a constant disappointment to my own father and I've learned to live with it." He tossed a coin towards Theon. "Your next tumble with Ros is on me. I'll try not to wear her out."

Theon watched Tyrion ride away, sighing.

>*~*<

THE WALL

Jon was instructed Grenn as they trained with the other recruits. "Shoulder, legs. Leg, shoulder, leg. Left foot forward. Good. Now pivot as you deliver the stroke. Put all your weight behind it."

Grenn saw something behind Jon, standing up straight. "What in seven hells is that?"

Jon turned around.

Ser Alliser walked closer with the newest recruit, Samwell Tarly.

"They'll need an eighth hell to fit him in," Pyp said.

Grenn and Pyp laughed.

Ser Alliser looked at Sam. "Tell them your name."

"Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill," Sam introduced himself. "I mean, I was of Horn Hill. But I've come to take the black."

"Come to take the black pudding," Rast said.

Rast, Grenn and Pyp chuckled.

"Well, you couldn't be any worse than you look," Ser Alliser told him. "Rast. See what he can do."

Rast and Sam got ready to spar.

Rast swung his sword at Sam, hitting him three times, making him fall to the ground.

Sam whimpered. "I yield. Please, no more."

"On your feet," Ser Alliser told him. "Pick up your sword." Sam struggled to get up. "Hit him till he finds his feet."

Rast hit Sam, repeatedly, making him yelp.

Green, Pyp and Jon looked uncomfortable.

"It seems they've run short of poachers and thieves down south," Ser Alliser said. "Now they send us squealing bloody pigs."

Jon walked forward to intervene.

Pyp stopped him. "Jon."

"Again, harder," Ser Alliser instructed.

Rast started hitting Sam with his sword again.

Sam shrieked. "I yield!"

"Enough!" Jon said, making Rast stop. "He yielded."

Jon helped Sam stand.

"Looks like the bastard's in love," Ser Alliser stated. Jon pushed Sam behind him. "All right then, Lord Snow, you wish to defend your lady love, let's make it an exercise." He pointed at Grenn and Pyp. "You two. Three of you ought to be sufficient to make lady piggy squeal." Grenn and Pyp walked forward to join Rast, turning to face Jon. "All you got to do is get past the bastard."

Jon looked at Grenn and Pyp. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Grenn shook his head. "No."

Rast charged forward, trying to strike Jon. Jon blocked his sword, kicking him before punching him in the face, making him fall. Pyp ran closer, Jon turned to elbow him, making him fall. Grenn swung his sword at Jon, Jon blocked the move, elbowing him in the chest. Grenn groaned in pain, backing away. Rast hit Jon in the back with his sword, Jon turned around and kicked him twice, making him fall. Then he ran towards Grenn.

Grenn held his arms up. "Yield, yield, yield. I yield."

"We're done for today," Ser Alliser said. "Go clean the armoury. That's all your good for."

Ser Alliser walked away.

Pyp stood, smiling at Grenn. "Well fought."

Grenn spat on the ground. "Piss off."

Rast walked away, glaring at Jon.

Sam looked at Jon. "Did he hurt you?"

"I've had worse," Jon told him.

"You can call me Sam," Sam told him. "If you want. My mother calls me Sam."

"It's not gonna get any easier, you know," Jon replied. "You're gonna have to defend yourself."

"Why didn't you get up and fight?" Grenn asked.

"I wanted to," Sam answered. "I just couldn't."

"Why not?" Grenn asked.

Sam sighed. "I'm a coward." Pyp and Grenn exchanged a look. "My father always says so."

"The Wall's no place for cowards," Jon told him.

"You're right," Sam agreed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to thank you."

Sam picked up his sword, walking away.

Grenn looked at Jon. "A bloody coward. You know, people saw us talking to him. Now they'll think we're cowards too."

"You're too stupid to be a coward," Pyp told him.

"You're too stupid to be a . . ." Grenn trailed off.

"Quick now before summer's over," Pyp said, chuckling.

Grenn went after him, Pyp easily evaded and ran away.

"Come here!" Grenn said, chasing Pyp.

Jon watched them, sighing.

>*~*<

VAES DOTHRAK

The khalasar had finally reached its destination, the sacred city of Vaes Dothrak.

Drogo and his bloodriders rode in first, the horses rushing into a gallop.

Jorah, Daenerys, Rhaenyra and Viserys watched them.

"Vaes Dothrak, the city of the horselords," Jorah told them.

"A pile of mud," Viserys said. "Mud and shit and twigs. Best these savages can do."

"These are my people now," Rhaenyra told him. "You shouldn't call them savages."

"I'll call them what I like because they're my people," Viserys replied. "This is my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army."

The khalasar started to head into the city.

"If our brother was given an army of Dothraki, could you conquer the Seven Kingdoms?" Daenerys asked.

"The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea," Jorah answered. "They fear any water their horses can't drink."

"But if they did?" Daenerys asked.

"King Robert is fool enough to meet them in open battle,' Jorah told them. "But the men advising him are different."

"And you know these men?" Daenerys asked.

"I fought beside them once," Jorah answered. "Long ago. Now Ned Stark wants my head. He drove me from my land."

"You sold slaves," Rhaenyra told him.

"Aye," Jorah said.

"Why?" Rhaenyra asked.

"I had no money and an expensive wife," Jorah answered.

"And where is she now?" Rhaenyra asked.

"In another place," Jorah answered. "With another man."

>*~*<

Doreah and Viserys were taking a bath together.

"Your Grace?" Doreah asked.

"Yes, my dear?" Viserys replied.

"They call you the last dragon," Doreah said.

"They do," Viserys confirmed.

"You have dragon's blood in your veins?" Doreah asked.

"It's entirely possible," Viserys answered.

Doreah chuckled. "What happened to the dragons? I was told that brave men killed them all."

Viserys lifted Doreah's chin. "The brave men didn't kill dragons. The brave men rode them. Rode them from Valyria to build the greatest civilization this world has ever seen. The breath of the greatest dragon forged the Iron Throne, which the usurper is keeping warm for me. The swords of the vanquished, a thousand of them, melted together like so many candles."

Viserys grabbed a candle, holding it between them.

"I have always wanted to see a dragon," Doreah told him. "There's nothing in the world that I would rather see."

"Really?" Viserys asked. "Why dragons?"

"They can fly," Doreah answered. "And wherever they are, just a few flaps of their wings and they're somewhere else, far away. And they can kill. Anyone or anything that tries to hurt them . . ." Doreah took the candle from Viserys, dripping the hot melted wax onto his chest. "Gets burned away to nothing. Melted like so many candles."

"Ow," Viserys said.

Doreah put the candle to the side. with the rest. "Yes. Seeing a dragon would make me very happy."

Viserys brushed back her hair. "Well, after 15 years in a pleasure house, I imagine just seeing the sky makes you happy."

They chuckled.

"I was not locked in," Doreah told him. "I have seen things."

"What have you seen?" Viserys asked.

"I've seen a man from Asshai with a dagger of real dragonglass," Doreah answered.

"Ooh," Viserys said.

"I've seen a man who could change his face the way that other men change their clothes," Doreah continued. "And I've seen a pirate who wore his weight in gold and whose ship had sails of coloured silk. So . . . have you seen one?"

"A pirate ship?" Viserys asked.

"A dragon," Doreah answered.

"No," Viserys confessed. Doreah looked down, seeming disappointed. "No, the last one died many years before I was born. I'll tell you what I have seen, their skulls. They used to decorate the throne room in the Red Keep. When I was very young, just three of four, my father used to walk me down the rows and I'd recite their names for him. When I got them all right, he'd give me a sweet. The ones closest to the door were the last ones they were able to hatch and they were all stunted and wrong with skulls no bigger than dog skulls. But . . . but as you got closer to the Iron Throne, they got bigger and bigger and bigger. There was Ghiscar, and Valryon, Vermithrax, Essovius . . ." Viserys gasped as Doreah raised herself, starting to pleasure him. "Archonei, Meraxes, Vhagar and Balerion the Dread." Doreah moaned in pleasure. "Whose fire forged the Seven Kingdoms into one."

Viserys and Doreah started to kiss each other, hungrily.

Doreah pulled away. "What happened to the skulls?"

"I don't know," Viserys told her. "The Usurper had them smashed to powder, I expect." They continued to kiss. "Scattered to the wind."

"That's very sad," Doreah replied.

"Yes, it is," Viserys agreed. Doreah reached to touch him, Viserys pushed her arm away, becoming annoyed. "What did I buy you for? To make me sad?"

"No, Your Grace," Doreah said. "To, uh, teach your sister."

"To teach my sister how to be a better lover?" Viserys asked, skeptically. "You think I bought you to make Khal Drogo happy?" Doreah looked away. "Oh, you pretty little idiot. Well, go on then. Get on with it."

Doreah continued to grind against Viserys, not seeming to find any pleasure in it.

>*~*<

KING'S LANDING

Sansa, Septa Mordane, Alerya and Lyanna walked into the Red Keep.

"Someday, your husband will sit there and you will sit by his side," Septa Mordane told Sansa. "And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince."

They looked at the Iron Throne.

"What if I have a girl?" Sansa asked.

"Gods be good, you'll have boys and girls and plenty of them," Septa Mordane answered.

"What if I only have girls?" Sansa asked.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Alerya told her.

Sansa looked at her older sister. "Jeyne Poole's mother had five children, all of them girls."

"Yes, but it's highly unlikely," Septa Mordane said,

"But what if?" Sansa asked.

"Well, if you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey's little brother," Septa Mordane answered.

"And everyone would hate me," Sansa said.

"Nobody could ever hate you," Alerya told her.

"Joffrey does," Sansa replied.

"Nonsense. Why would you say such a thing?" Septa Mordane asked. Sansa didn't answer."That business with the wolves? Sansa . . . I've told you girls a hundred times a direwolf is not--"

"Please shut up about it," Sansa told her, starting to walk away.

"Do you remember your lessons?" Septa Mordane asked. Both Sansa and Alerya looked at her. "Who built the Iron Throne?"

"Aegon the Conquerer," Sansa answered.

"And who built the Red Keep?" Septa Mordane questioned.

"Maegor the Cruel," Sansa told her,

Septa Mordane walked closer to Sansa. "And how many years did it take to build . . ."

"Our grandfather and uncle were murdered here, weren't they?" Alerya asked.

"They were killed on the orders of King Aerys, yes," Septa Mordane answered.

"The Mad King," Alerya said.

"Commonly known as the Mad King," Septa Mordane corrected.

"Why were they killed?" Sansa asked.

"You should speak to your father about these matters," Septa Mordane answered.

"I don't want to speak to my father," Sansa told her. "Ever."

Alerya walked closer with Lyanna. "Sansa, you will find it in your heart to forgive Father."

Sansa shook her head. "No, I won't."

>*~*<

Ned and the Small Council were having a meeting.

A member of the City Watch stood before them. "It's the Hand's Tournament that's causing all this trouble, my lords."

"The King's Tournament," Ned corrected. "I assure you the Hand wants no part of it."

"Call it what you will, Lord Stark, ser," the City Watchman said. "The city is packed with people and more flooding in every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters."

Varys shook his head. "Dreadful."

"If you can't keep the king's peace, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can," Renly stated.

"I need more men," the City Watchman said.

"You'll get 50," Ned told him. "Lord Baelish will see it paid for."

"I will?" Littlefinger asked.

"You found money for a champion's purse, you can find money to keep the peace," Ned answered. He looked at the City Watchman. "I'll also give you 20 of my household guard till the crowds have left."

"Thank you, my lord Hand, ser," the City Watchman said. "They will be put to good use.

The City Watchman bowed and took his leave.

"The sooner this is over, the better," Ned stated, having a drink.

"The realm prospers from such events, my lord," Varys told him. "They give the great a chance at glory and the lowly a respite from their woes."

"And every inn in the city is full and the whores are walking bow-legged," Littlefinger added.

"I'm sure the tourney puts coins in many a pocket," Ned said.

"Hmm," Littlefinger nodded.

"Now, if there's nothing else, my lord?" Ned asked, standing.

Renly stood, walking away.

Varys stood, nodding at Ned before walking away.

Littlefinger gave Ned a bow before leaving,

Pycelle slowly made his way out. "Oh, this heat. On days like this, I envy you northerners, your summer snows. Until tomorrow, my lord."

"I've been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn," Ned told him.

Pycelle turned back. "Lord Arryn? Oh, his death was a great sadness to all of us. I took personal charge of his care, but I could not save him. His sickness struck him very hard and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Jon often came to me for counsel."

"Why?" Ned asked.

"I have been grand maester for many years," Pycelle answered. "Kings and Hands have come to me for advice since--"

"What did Jon want the night before he died?" Ned questioned.

"Oh, he came in inquiring about a book," Pycelle told him.

"A book?" Ned repeated. "What book?"

"Oh, I fear it would be of little interest to you, my lord," Pycelle said. "A . . . a ponderous tome."

"No, I'd like to read it," Ned replied.

>*~*<

Ned and Pycelle were in the Grand Maester's chamber.

Pycelle grabbed a large book off the bookshelf, turning towards Ned. "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with descriptions of many high lords and noble ladies." He put the book on the table, sitting down. "And their children."

Ned opened the book and flipped through the pages, reading. "Harkon Umber, first of his name, born to Lord Hothar Umber and Lady Amaryllis Umber in the 183rd year after Aegon's Landing, at the Last Hearth. Blue of eye, brown of hair and fair complected, died in his 14th year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt."

"As I said, my lord, a ponderous read," Pycelle told him.

"Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?" Ned asked.

"He did not, my lord," Pycelle answered. "And I did not presume to ask."

"Jon's death . . ." Ned trailed off.

"Such a tradegy," Pycelle said.

"Did he say anything to you during his final hours?" Ned asked.

"Nothing of import, my lord," Pycelle answered. "Oh. There was one phrase he kept repeating. 'The seed is strong', I think it was."

"The seed is strong?" Ned repeated.

Pycelle nodded. "Mm."

"What does that mean?" Ned asked.

"Oh, the dying mind is a demented mind, Lord Stark," Pycelle told him. "For all the weight they're given, last words are usually as significant as first words."

"And you're quite certain he died of a natural illness?" Ned inquired.

"What else could it be?" Pycelle asked.

"Poison," Ned answered.

"A disturbing thought," Pycelle said. "No, no, no, I don't think it likely. The Hand was loved by all. What sort of man would dare . . ."

"I've heard it said that poison is a woman's weapon," Ned replied.

"Yes," Pycelle agreed. "Women, cravens . . . and eunuchs. Did you know that Lord Varys is a eunuch?"

"Everybody knows that," Ned told him.

"Yes, yes, of course," Pycelle replied. "How that sort of person found himself on the king's council, I will never know."

"I've taken enough of your time," Ned said, closing the book.

"No trouble at all, my lord," Pycelle told him. "It's a great honour."

Ned picked up the book. "Thank you. I'll find my own way out."

Ned walked out, leaving.

>*~*<

Arya was standing on the steps outside the Tower of the Hand, balancing on one foot.

Alerya walked closer with Lyanna. "What are you doing?"

"Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours," Arya said.

"It's a hard fall down these steps," Alerya told her.

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better," Arya replied. She lowered her foot. "Tomorrow I'm going to be chasing cats."

"Cats?" Alerya repeated, nodding in realization. "Syrio says."

"He says every swordsman should study cats," Arya told her. "They're as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them."

"He's right about that," Alerya replied,

"Now that Bran's awake, will he come live with us?" Arya asked.

"Well, he needs to get his strength back first," Alerya answered.

"He wants to be knight of the Kingsguard," Arya said. "He can't be one now, can he?"

Alerya looked down. "No." Arya and Alerya sat down on the steps together. "But someday, he could be lord of a holdfast or sit on the king's council like Father. Or he might raise castles like Brandon the Builder."

"Can I be lord of a holdfast?" Arya asked.

Alerya chuckled, wrapping her arm around Arya. "You can be whatever you want to be."

Arya smiled. "What about you?"

"I will marry a high lord and rule his castle," Alerya told her. "And my sons shall be knights and princes and lords. I want to be a great leader, just like Mother and Father, with my fierce direwolf by my side."

Arya and Alerya exchanged smiles, looking at Lyanna.

Lyanna tilted her head, curiously.

>*~*<

THE WALL

Jon was standing on top of the Wall, keeping watch.

Sam walked closer. "Hello. Ser Alliser said I'm to be your new watch partner. I should warn you, I don't see all that well."

"Come stand by the fire," Jon said, looking at Sam. "It's warmer."

"No, that's all right," Sam replied. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Jon told him. "You're freezing."

Sam walked closer to the fire, looking down the edge of the Wall. "I don't like high places."

"You can't fight. You can't see," Jon stated. "You're afraid of heights and almost everything else probably. What are you doing here, Sam?"

"On the morning of my 18th nameday, my father came to me," Sam told him. "'You're almost a man now', he said. 'But you're not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you're going to take the black, forsake all claim to your inheritance and start north. If you do not', he said, 'then we'll have a hunt and somewhere in these woods, your horse will stumble and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die. Or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more'." Jon looked away in shock. "Ser Alliser's going to make me fight again tomorrow, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Jon replied.

Sam groaned. "I'm not going to get any better, you know."

Jon looked at him. "Well . . . you can't get any worse."

They chuckled.

>*~*<

KING'S LANDING

Ned and Littlefinger were walking through the gardens outside the Red Keep.

"I hear you're reading a boring book," Littlefinger said.

"Hmph," Ned replied. "Pycelle talks too much."

"Oh, he never stops," Littlefinger told him. "Do you know Ser Hugh of the Vale?" Ned shook his head. "Not surprising. Until recently, he was only a squire. Jon Arryn's squire. He was knighted almost immediately after his master's untimely death."

"Knighted for what?" Ned asked. Littlefinger didn't answer. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I promised Cat that I'd help you," Littlefinger answered.

"Where is Ser Hugh?" Ned asked. "I'll speak to him."

"A singularly bad idea," Littlefinger told him. "Do you see that boy there?" There were two boys sitting against a tree, playing the one in the red vest was looking at them. Littlefinger lowered his voice to a whisper. "One of Varys's little birds. The spider has taken a great interest in your comings and goings. Now look there." They looked at an elderly man working in the garden. "That one belongs to the queen. And do you see that septa pretending to read her book?"

Ned looked at the septa. "Varys or the queen?"

"No, she's one of mine," Littlefinger said. "Is there someone in your service whom you trust completely?"

"Yes," Ned told him.

"The wiser answer was no, my lord," Littlefinger replied. "Get a message to this paragon of yours, discreetly. Send him to question Ser Hugh. After that, you might want him to visit a certain armourer in the city. He lives in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel."

"Why?" Ned asked.

"I have my observers, as I said," Littlefinger answered. "And it's possible that they saw Lord Arryn visit this armourer several times in the weeks before his death."

Ned looked down. "Lord Baelish, perhaps I was wrong to distrust you."

"Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed off your horse," Littlefinger told him, walking away.

>*~*<

The tourney was being organized, there were tents set up, men were hammering in the barrier for the jousting event.

Ser Hugh was pacing, counting. "22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29 . . ."

Jory walked closer. "Ser Hugh?"

Ser Hugh raised his hand, telling him to wait. "30, 31, 32 . . ."

"Ser Hugh!" Jory said.

"As you can see, I'm busy," Ser Hugh told him, continuing to count.

"I'm here on behalf of Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King," Jory replied. Ser Hugh turned to face him. "I'm the captain of his guard."

"I'm sorry," Ser Hugh said. "I didn't catch your name, Ser . . ."

"No 'ser'," Jory told him. "I'm not a knight."

"I see," Ser Hugh replied. "Well, it just so happens that I am."

Ser Hugh returned to counting, pacing.

Jory looked to the side.

>*~*<

Ned and Jory were riding through the Street of Steel.

"He said he'd be glad to talk to the hand himself," Jory told him. "He's a knight, you see."

"Ah, a knight," Ned said. "They strut around like roosters down here. Even the ones who've never seen an arrow coming their way."

"You shouldn't be out here, my lord," Jory replied. "There's no telling who has eyes where."

"Let them look," Ned told him, dismounting his horse.

Ned walked into the house to talk to the armourer, Mott.

"The former Hand did call on me, my lord," Mott said. "Several times. I regret to say he did not honour me with his patronage."

"What did Lord Arryn want?" Ned asked.

"He always came to see the boy," Mott answered.

"I'd like to see him as well," Ned told him.

"Very well, my lord," Mott replied. He looked at his assistant. "Gendry!" Gendry put down his hameer and walked closer. "Here he is. Strong for his age. He works hard. Show the Hand the helmet you made, lad."

Gendry picked up a helmet with horns on it, handing it to Ned.

"This is fine work," Ned told him.

"It's not for sale," Gendry said.

Mott looked at him. "Boy, this is the King's Hand. If his lordship wants the helmet . . ."

"I made it for me," Gendry told him.

"Forgive him, my lord," Mott said.

"There's nothing to forgive," Ned replied. "When Lord Arryn came to visit you, what would you talk about?"

"He just asked me questions is all, my lord," Gendry told him.

"What kind of questions?" Ned inquired.

Gendry looked at Mott, who nodded. "About my work at first, if I was being treated well, if I liked it here. But then he started asking me about my mother."

"Your mother?" Ned repeated.

"Who she was, what she looked like," Gendry said.

"What did you tell him?" Ned asked.

"She died when I was little," Gendry answered. "She had yellow hair. She'd sing to me sometimes."

Gendry looked down.

"Look at me," Ned told him.

Gendry looked at Ned.

Ned seemed to realize something, he handed the helmet back to Gendry. "Get back to work, lad." Gendry walked away. "If the day ever comes when that boy would rather wield a sword than forge one, you send him to me."

Ned walked away, back to Jory and their horses.

"Find anything?" Jory asked.

"King Robert's bastard son," Ned answered.

>*~*<

Jaime was standing guard outside Robert's chamber, who was inside with some prostitutes, laughing.

Jory walked closer with a scroll. "This is for the king from Lord Stark. Should I leave it with . . ."

"Shh," Jaime told him. "Listen. Do you hear them? How many do you think are in there with him? Huh? Guess."

"Three," Jory said. "Four."

"He likes to do this when I'm on duty," Jaime told him. "He makes me listen as he insults my sister."

The door opened and a prostitute ran out.

"Forgive me, my lord . . ." Jory trailed off.

"Why do I have to forgive you?" Jaime asked. "Have you wronged me?"

"We've met before, you know," Jory told him.

"Have we?" Jaime asked. "Strange, I've forgotten."

"The Siege of Pyke," Jory answered. "We fought side by side one afternoon."

"Ah," Jaime said, remembering. "That's where you got your scar."

"Aye," Jory confirmed.

Jaime smiled. "Oh."

"One of the Greyjoys nearly took my eye," Jory told him.

"Vicious sons of whores," Jaime said.

"They like their bloodshed," Jory told him.

"They stopped liking it at the end," Jaime replied. "That was a proper battle. Do you remember Thoros of Myr charging through the breach?"

"With his burning sword?" Jory asked. "I'll remember that till the day I die."

"I saw the youngest of the Greyjoy lads at Winterfell," Jaime told him. "It was like seeing a shark on a mountaintop."

"Theon? He's a good lad," Jory said.

"I doubt it," Jaime replied.

The door opened again, two more prostitutes walked out.

"I'll bet you smell of blackberry jam," Robert said. "Let me smell it. Come here."

Jaime closed the door.

"Can I leave this with you?" Jory asked, holding up the scroll. "The message from Lord Stark."

"I don't serve Lord Stark," Jaime answered.

Jory walked away.

>*~*<

THE WALL

The men and recruits of the Night's Watch were all having lunch in the dining hall of Castle Black.

Jon walked in, taking off his cloak and sat down with Grenn and Pyp.

"Where have you been?" Grenn asked.

"Watch duty," Jon answered. "With Sam."

"Ah, Prince Porkchop," Pyp said. "Where is he?"

"He wasn't hungry," Jon replied.

"Impossible," Pyp said.

Grenn chuckled.

"That's enough," Jon told them, grabbing some bread and a bowl of food. "Sam's no different from the rest of us. There's no place for him in the world, so he's come here. We're not gonna hurt him in the training yard anymore. Never again, no matter what Thorne says. He's our brother now and we're going to protect him."

"You are in love, Lord Snow," Rast told him. laughing, turning to face Jon, Grenn and Pyp. "You girls can do as you please. But if Thorne puts me up against Lady Piggy, I'm gonna slice me off a side of bacon."

Jon looked at him for a moment before turning away.

>*~*<

Rast was sleeping.

Jon, Grenn and Pyp walked towards his bed, Jon put a gag over his mouth so he would scream.

Jon's direwolf Ghost was standing on Rast's bed, growling at him.

"No one touches Sam," Jon told him.

Ghost snarled at Rast.

Jon removed the gag.

Rast looked at Ghost in fear.

Jon, Pyp, Grenn and Ghost walked away.

>*~*<

The next morning, the recruits were in the training yard.

Ser Alliser watched as Rast and Sam prepared to spar.

Rast glanced at Jon, hesitating.

"What are you waiting for?" Ser Alliser asked.

Sam tried to strike Rast, Rast knocked his sword out of his hand. Sam looked at Rast, cautiously as he went to pick up his sword,

"Attack him!" Ser Alliser demanded.

Rast tapped Sam on the arm with his sword.

Sam looked from his arm to Rast in confusion.

Ser Alliser pushed Rast aside, looking at Grenn. "You, get in there."

Grenn walked forward, speaking in a low voice. "Hit me."

Sam looked at Jon.

Jon nodded.

"Go on, hit me," Grenn told him

Sam hit Grenn on the arm with his sword, Grenn cried out and fell to the ground, pretending to be hurt. "I yield."

Jon smiled, chuckled quietly.

"Yield," Grenn repeated. "Yield. I yield."

Ser Alliser marched forward, pushing Sam out of the way and gripped Jon by his collar. "You think this is funny, do you?" He let go of Jon, roughly and faced all the recruits. "When you're out there beyond the Wall with the sun going down, do you want a man at your back? Or a snivelling boy?"

Ser Alliser walked away.

>*~*<

VAES DOTHRAK

Viserys was dragging Doreah by the hair towards Rhaenyra's tent.

Rhaenyra heard Doreah's cries.

"You send this whore to give me commands?" Viserys asked, throwing Doreah to the ground. "I should have sent you back her head!"

Rhaenyra looked at Doreah in concern.

"Forgive me, Khaleesi," Doreah said. "I did as you asked."

"Hush now, it's all right," Rhaenyra told her. "Irri, take her and leave us."

"Yes, Khaleesi," Irri said, helping Doreah stand and they left the tent.

Rhaenyra looked at Viserys. "Why did you hit her?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Viserys asked. "You do not command me."

"I wasn't commanding you," Rhaenyra answered. "I just wanted to invite you to supper."

Viserys saw some garments. "What's this?"

"It's a gift," Rhaenyra told him. "I had them made for you and Dany."

Viserys picked up the garments made for him. "Dothraki rags? Are you going to dress me now?"

"Please," Rhaenyra said, trying to calm him.

Viserys threw the garments at her. "This stinks of manure." He threw a golden belt. "All of it."

"Stop," Rhaenyra told him. "Stop it."

"You would turn me into one of them, wouldn't you?" Viserys asked, outraged. "Next, you'll want to braid my hair."

"You've no right to a braid," Rhaenyra answered. "You've won no victories yet."

"You do not talk back to me," Viserys told her, infuriated. He slapped Rhaenyra, she fell and Viserys hovered over her. "You are a horselord's slut and now you've woken the dragon."

Rhaenyra grabbed the belt beside her and hit Viserys in the face with it, standing. "I am a khaleesi of the Dothraki." Viserys stood as he looked at her in shock. "I am the wife of the great khal and I carry his son inside me. The next time you raise a hand to me will be the last time you have hands."

>*~*<

THE WALL

Sam and Jon were cleaning tables.

"I know for a fact that some of the officers go to that brothel in Mole's Town," Sam said.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Jon replied.

"Don't you think it's a little bit unfair?" Sam asked. "Making us take vows while they sneak off for a little Sally on the side?"

"Sally on the side?" Jon repeated.

"It's silly, isn't it?" Sam asked. "What, we can't defend the Wall unless we're celibate? It's absurd."

"I didn't think you'd be so upset about it," Jon told him.

"Why not?" Sam asked. "Because I'm fat?"

"No," Jon answered.

"But I like girls just as much as you do," Sam told him. "They might not like me as much. I've never . . . been with one. You've probably had hundreds."

"No," Jon said. "As a matter of fact, I'm the same as you."

Sam chuckled, not believing him. "Yeah. Yeah, I . . . I find that hard to believe."

"I came very close once," Jon told him. "I was alone in a room with a naked girl, but . . ."

"You didn't know where to put it?" Sam asked.

"I know where to put it," Jon answered.

"Was she . . ." Sam trailed off. "Old and ugly?"

Jon sat on the table. "Young and gorgeous. A whore named Ros."

"What colour hair?" Sam asked.

"Red," Jon answered.

"Oh, I like red hair," Sam told him. "And her, um . . . her, uh . . ."

Sam touched his chest to show hi meant her breasts.

Jon smiled. "You don't want to know."

"What, that good?" Sam asked.

"Better," Jon answered.

"Oh, no," Sam said. "So why exactly did you not make love to Ros with the perfect . . .?"

"What's my name?" Jon asked.

"Jon Snow," Sam answered.

"And why is my surname Snow?" Jon questioned.

"Because . . . you're a bastard from the North," Sam said.

"I never met my mother," Jon told him. "My father wouldn't even tell me her name. I don't know if she's living or dead. I don't know if she's a noblewoman or a fisherman's wife or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes. But I couldn't do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child, another bastard named Snow? It's not a good life for a child."

Jon returned to scrubbing the table.

"So . . ." Sam trailed off. "You didn't know where to put it?"

Jon tossed down the scrubbing brush and ran around the table towards Sam, both of them laughing.

Ser Alliser walked in. "Enjoying yourselves?" Sam and Jon returned to scrubbing the tables. "You look cold, boys."

"It is a bit nippy," Sam said.

"A bit nippy, yeah, by the fire," Ser Alliser replied. "Indoors. It's still summer. Do you boys even remember the last winter? How long has it been now? What, 10 years?"

"I remember," Jon told him.

"Was it uncomfortable at Winterfell?" Ser Alliser asked. "Were there days when you just couldn't get warm, not matter how many fires your servants built?"

"I built my own fires," Jon told him.

"That's admirable," Ser Alliser replied, nodding. "I spent six months out there, beyond the Wall during the last winter. It was supposed to be a two-week mission. We heard a rumour Mance Rayder was planning to attack Eastwatch. So we went out to look for some of his men, capture them, gather some knowledge. The wildlings who fight for Mance Rayder are hard men. Harder than you'll ever be. They know their country better than we do. They knew there was a storm coming in. So they hid in their caves and waited for it to pass. And we got caught in the open. Wind so strong it yankes 100-foot trees straight from the ground, roots and all. If you took your gloves off to find your cock to have a piss, you lost a finger to the frost. And all in darkness. You don't know cold. Neither of you do. The horses died first. We didn't have enough to feed them, to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy. But later when we started to fall . . . that wasn't easy. We should have had a couple of boy like you along, shouldn't we?" He walked around them, grabbing Sam's arm, making him gasp. "Soft fat boys like you. We'd have lasted a fortnight on you and still had bones left over for soup." He let go of Sam, walking around the table again. "Soon, we'll have new recruits and you lot will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment, and they will call you men of the Night's Watch, but you'd be fools to believe it. You're boys still. And come the winter, you will die like flies."

Ser Alliser walked out, leaving.

>*~*<

VAES DOTHRAK

Rhaenyra, Daenerys and Jorah were in Rhaenyra's tent. Daenerys was wearing Dothraki clothing like her sister.

"I hit him," Rhaenyra said, looking at Daenerys. "I hit the dragon."

"Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon," Jorah told them. "Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake."

"He is still the true king," Daenerys replied.

"The truth now," Jorah said, walking closer. "Do you want to see your brother sitting on the Iron Throne?"

"No," Daenerys answered. "But the common people are waiting for him. Illyrio said they are sewing dragon banners and praying for his return."

"The common people pray for rain, health and a summer that never ends," Jorah told them. "They don't care what games the high lords play."

"What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Home," Jorah answered.

"I pray for home too," Rhaenyra told him. "Our brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn't lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He'll never take us home."

>*~*<

KING'S LANDING

It was the day of the Hand's tournament.

Robert and Cersei sat together with Ser Barristan and the Hound standing guard on either side. Joffrey sat in front of the Hound with a cape covering his injured arm, Myrcella and Tommen sat together in front of Ser Barristan.

Robert drank ale out of a horn.

The stands on either side of the jousting arena were occupied with spectators.

Joffrey glanced at Sansa, she looked back at him and smiled. He looked away.

Sansa's smile faded and she looked away.

Littlefinger walked closer. "Lovers' quarrel?"

Sansa, Alerya, Arya and Septa Mordane looked at him.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said. "Do I . . .?"

"Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish," Septa Mordane told her. "He's known . . ."

An old friend of the family," Littlefinger said, sitting next to Alerya. "I've known your mother for a long, long time."

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya asked.

"Arya," Alerya chastised.

"Don't be rude," Septa Mordane told her.

"No, it's quite all right," Littlefinger told them. "When I was a child, I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

Robert stood. "I've been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!"

Robert sat back down.

Cersei stood and walked away.

The crowd cheered as the joust started.

Alerya saw a knight riding closer. "Gods, who's that?"

Littlefinger followed her gaze. "Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain." The Mountain stopped his horse next to Ser Hugh, opening his helmet and bowing before the king. "The Hound's older brother."

"And his opponent?" Alerya asked.

"Ser Hugh of the Vale," Littlefinger answered. Ser Hugh bowed as well. "He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."

"Yes, yes, enough of the bloody pomp," Robert said, impatiently. "Have at him!"

The Mountain and Ser Hugh rode to opposite ends of the field.

A horn was blown to signify the start of the joust.

The Mountain and Ser Hugh were given shields and lances, then they charged towards each other. The Mountain tried to hit Ser Hugh with his lance but missed, They rode their horses around the barrier, charging forward again. This time, the Mountain hit Ser Hugh on the side on his neck.

Everyone stood and gasped in horror.

Sansa screamed.

Ser Hugh fell off his horse, a piece of the Mountain's lance was protruding from his neck, causing blood to gush out.

Everyone watched in disquiet as Ser Hugh died and his body was dragged away.

Littlefinger looked at Alerya. "Not what you were expecting? Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?" Alerya and Littlefinger looked towards the Hound for a moment. "Lovely little tale of brotherly love. The Hound was just a pup, six years old maybe, Gregor, a few years older, already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire, Gregor's toy. A wooden knight. Gregor never said a word, he just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted. There aren't very many people who know that story."

"I won't tell anyone," Alerya told him. "I promise."

"No, please don't," Littlefinger replied. "If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you."

>*~*<

Ned was in his quarters.

Jory knocked on the door, walking in. "My lord, Her Grace, the queen."

Cersei walked in.

"Your Grace," Ned greeted her.

"You're missing your tournament," Cersei said.

"Putting my name on it doesn't make it mine," Ned replied.

"I thought we might put what happened on the Kingsroad behind us," Cersei told him. "The ugliness with the wolves. And forcing you to kill the best was extreme." Ned looked down, still guilty about the act. "Though sometimes we go to extremes where our children are concerned. How is Sansa?"

"She likes it here," Ned said.

"She's the only Stark who does," Cersei replied. "Favours her mother, not much of the North in her."

"What are you doing here?" Ned asked.

"I might ask the same of you," Cersei said, walking closer. "What is it you hope to accomplish?"

"The king called on me to serve him and the realm," Ned told her. "And that's what I'll do until he tells me otherwise."

"You can't change him," Cersei told him. "You can't help him. He'll do what he wants, which is all he's ever done. You'll try your best to pick up the pieces."

"If that's my job, then so be it," Ned said.

"You're just a soldier, aren't you?" Cersei asked. "You take your orders and you carry on. I suppose it makes sense. Your older brother was trained to lead and you were trained to follow."

"I was also trained to kill my enemies, Your Grace," Ned answered.

"As was I," Cersei told him before walking out, leaving.

>*~*<

THE KINGSROAD

Catelyn and Ser Rodrik were sitting at a table in the Crossroads' Inn.

A bard named Marillion approached them. "Seven blessings to you, goodfolk."

"And to you," Catelyn said, looking away.

Boy! Bread, meat and beer," Ser Rodrik demanded. "Quickly."

"Ah, good idea, Grandfather," Marillion said, tapping the table. "I'm starving. A song while we wait or . . . ?"

"I'd rather throw myself down a well," Ser Rodrik told him.

Catelyn looked down, smiling.

"Now, now, Grandfather, this may be your last chance if you're heading North," Marillion told him. "The only music the northerners know is the howling of wolves."

Ser Rodrik looked towards the door as Tyrion and Yoren walked in. "Gods."

The innkeeper walked towards Tyrion. "I'm sorry, my lord. We're full up." Catelyn and Marillion looked towards Tyrion. "Every room."

Catelyn and Ser Rodrik tried to hide themselves from Tyrion's sight.

"My men can sleep in the stable," Tyrion told her. "As for myself, I don't require a large room."

"Truly, my lord, we have nothing," the innkeeper replied.

"Is there nothing I can do to remedy this?" Tyrion asked, holding up a coin.

"You can have my room," a sellsword named Bronn answered.

"Now there's a clever man," Tyrion said, tossing the coin to Bronn. He looked at the innkeeper. "You can manage food, I trust? Yoren, dine with me."

"Aye, my lord," Yoren replied.

"My lord of Lannister!" Marillion said, standing. "Might I entertain you while you eat? I can sing of your father's victory at King's Landing."

"Nothing would more likely ruin my supper," Tyrion told him. He saw Catelyn. "Lady Stark. What an unexpected pleasure." Catelyn closed her eyes, briefly before turning to face him. "I was sorry to have missed you at Winterfell."

"Lady Stark," the innkeeper greeted her, curtseying.

Catelyn stood, taking her shawl off her head. "I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here." She looked at Man 1, walking closer. Ser Rodrik stood. "You, ser. Is that the black bat of Harrenhal I see embroidered on your coat?"

Man 1 stood, nodding. "It is, my lady."

"And is Lady Whent a true and honest friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun?" Catelyn asked.

"She is," Man 1 answered.

Catelyn looked at Man 2. "The red stallion was always a welcome sight at Riverrun." Man 2 stood. "My father counts Jonos Bracken amongst his oldest and most loyal bannermen."

"Our lord is honoured by his trust," Man 2 said.

Tyrion looked at Catelyn. "I envy your father all his fine friends, Lady Stark, but I don't quite see the purpose of this."

Catelyn turned to face Man 3 behind her. "I know your sigil as well." Man 3 stood. "The twin towers of Frey. How fares your lord, ser?"

"Lord Walder is well, my lady," Man 3 told her. "He has asked your father for the honour of his presence on his 90th nameday. He plans to take another wife."

"Ha," Tyrion said.

Catelyn looked at Tyrion. "This man came into my house as a guest and there conspired to murder my son. A boy of 10. In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the king's justice."

All the men drew their swords, aiming them at Tyrion.