PRAISEFORAGAMEOFTHRONES

Reminiscent of T. H. Whites TheOnceandFutureKing, thisnovelisanabsorbing combination of the mythic,the sweeping historical, and theintenselypersonal.

ChicagoSun-Times

I always expect thebest fromGeorge

R.R.Martin,andhealwaysdelivers.AGameofThronesgrabsholdandwontletgo.Itsbrilliant.

RobertJordan

Such a splendid tale and such afantistorical!Ireadmyeyesout.

AnneMcCaffrey

Martin makes a triumphant return tohigh fantasy . . . [his] trophy case isalready stuffed with major prizes,including Hugos, Nebulas, LocusAwards and a Bram Stoker. Hes

probably going to have to add anothershelf,atleast.

PublishersWeekly(starredreview)

A vast, rich saga, with splendidcharacters and an intricate plotflawlessly articulated against abackdropofrealdepthandtexture.

KirkusReviews

The keen and complex humancharacters and the convincing force oftheirsurroundingsoperateasmagic...

setting George R. R. Martins firstfantasy epic well above the norms ofthegenre.

LocusMagazine

It is perhaps the best of the epicfantasiesreadableandrealistic.

MarionZimmerBradley

Themajor fantasy of the decade . . .compulsivelyreadable.

TheDenverPost

GeorgeR.R.Martinisoneofourverybest science fictionwriters, and this isoneofhisverybestbooks.

RaymondE.Feist

Wehavebeeninvitedtoagrandfeastand pageant: George R. R.Martin hasunveiled for us an intensely realized,romantic but realisticworld . . . if thenext two volumes are as good as thisone, it will be a wonderful feastindeed.

ChicagoSun-Times

Iwouldbeverysurprisedifthisisnotthe major fantasy publishing event of1996,andImalreadyimpatientforthenextinstallment.

ScienceFictionChronicle

A colorful, majestic tapestry ofcharacters,actionandplotthatdeservesa spot on any readers wall . . . thepages seem to pass in a blur as youread.

AlbuquerqueJournal

George Martin is assuredly a new

mastercraftsman in theguildofheroicfantasy.

KatharineKerr

A Game of Thrones offers the richtapestry that the very best fantasydemands:ironandsteelwithinthesilk,grandeur within the wonder, andcharacters torn between deep love andloyalty. Few created worlds are asimaginative and diverse. George R. R.Martinistobeapplauded.

JannyWurts

Adazzlingfantasyadventure...witha great cast of characters thatweave atapestryofcourtintrigue,skullduggery,vicious betrayal and greatheartedsacrifice.

JulianMay

Terrific, incredibly powerful, withphenomenal characterizations andexquisitewriting.

TeresaMedeiros

The characterization was superb, thestoryvividandheartbreaking...when

isthenextonecomingout?

LindaHoward

ACLASHOFKINGS

A truly epic fantasy set in a worldbedecked with 8,000 years of history,beset by an imminent winter that willlast tenyearsandbedazzledbyswordsandspellswieldedtodevastatingeffect. . . here he provides a banquet forfantasyloverswithlargeappetites.

PublishersWeekly(starredreview)

Martinamplyfulfillsthefirstvolumespromise and continues what seemsdestined to be one of the best fantasyserieseverwritten.

TheDenverPost

Highfantasywithavengeance.

TheSanDiegoUnion-Tribune

Rivals T. H. Whites The Once andFutureKing.

TheDesMoinesRegister

So complex, fascinating and well-rendered, readers will almost certainlybehookedbythewholeseries.

TheOregonian

ASTORMOFSWORDS

One of themore rewarding examplesofgigantismincontemporaryfantasy...richlyimagined.

PublishersWeekly(starredreview)

GeorgeR.R.Martincontinuestotakeepicfantasytonewlevelsofinsightandsophistication, resonant with theturmoilsandstressoftheworldwecallourown.

LocusMagazine

Martin creates a gorgeously and

intricatelytexturedworld,peopledwithabsolutely believable and fascinatingcharacters.

ThePlainDealer(Cleveland)

High fantasy doesnt get any betterthanthis.

TheOregonian

A riveting continuation of a serieswhosebrilliancecontinuestodazzle.

ThePatriotNews

Enoughgritandaction topleaseeventhemostmacho...apage-turner.

TheDallasMorningNews

Thelatestandthebestinapowerful... cycle that delivers real people and apage-turningplot.

ContraCostaTimes

Martinsepicadvanceshisserieswithgrittycharacterizations,boldplotmovesandplentyofaction.

St.LouisPost-Dispatch

ASTORMOFSWORDS

ABantamSpectraBook

PUBLISHINGHISTORY

BantamSpectrahardcovereditionpublishedNovember2000

BantamSpectratradepaperbackeditionpublishedJune2002

BantamSpectramassmarketedition/March2003

PublishedbyBantamDell

ADivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.

NewYork,NewYork

Allrightsreserved

Copyright2000byGeorgeR.R.Martin

MapsbyJamesSinclair

HeraldiccrestsbyVirginiaNorey

LibraryofCongressCatalogCardNumber:00-60827

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronicormechanical,

includingphotocopying,recording,or

byanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,withoutthewrittenpermissionofthepublisherexceptwherepermitted

bylaw.Forinformationaddress:BantamBooks,NewYork,NewYork.

Visitourwebsiteatwww.bantamdell.com

BantamBooks,theroostercolophon,Spectra,andtheportrayalofaboxedsareregisteredtrademarksof

RandomHouse,Inc.

eISBN:978-0-553-89787-6

v3.0_r4

http://www.bantamdell.com

Contents

CoverPage

PraiseforAGameofThrones,AClashofKingsandAStormof

Swords

TitlePage

CopyrightPage

ANoteonChronology

Maps

PROLOGUE

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19

Chapter20

Chapter21

Chapter22

Chapter23

Chapter24

Chapter25

Chapter26

Chapter27

Chapter28

Chapter29

Chapter30

Chapter31

Chapter32

Chapter33

Chapter34

Chapter35

Chapter36

Chapter37

Chapter38

Chapter39

Chapter40

Chapter41

Chapter42

Chapter43

Chapter44

Chapter45

Chapter46

Chapter47

Chapter48

Chapter49

Chapter50

Chapter51

Chapter52

Chapter53

Chapter54

Chapter55

Chapter56

Chapter57

Chapter58

Chapter59

Chapter60

Chapter61

Chapter62

Chapter63

Chapter64

Chapter65

Chapter66

Chapter67

Chapter68

Chapter69

Chapter70

Chapter71

Chapter72

Chapter73

Chapter74

Chapter75

Chapter76

Chapter77

Chapter78

Chapter79

Chapter80

EPILOGUE

THEKINGSANDTHEIRCOURTS

THEKINGONTHEIRONTHRONE

THEKINGINTHENORTHTHEKINGOFTHETRIDENT

THEKINGINTHENARROWSEA

THEQUEENACROSSTHEWATER

KINGOFTHEISLESANDTHENORTH

OTHERHOUSESGREATANDSMALL

HOUSEARRYN

HOUSEFLORENT

HOUSEFREY

HOUSELANNISTER

HOUSEMARTELL

HOUSETULLY

HOUSETYRELL

REBELS,ROGUES,

ANDSWORNBROTHERS

THESWORNBROTHERSOFTHENIGHTSWATCH

THEBROTHERHOODWITHOUT

BANNERSANOUTLAWFELLOWSHIP

theWILDLINGS,ortheFREEFOLK

Dedication

Acknowledgments

AlsobyGeorgeR.R.Martin

AbouttheAuthor

PreviewofAFeastforCrows

ANOTEONCHRONOLOGY

ASongofIceandFireistoldthroughtheeyesofcharacterswho are sometimes hundredsor even thousands of milesapartfromoneanother.Some

chapters cover a day, someonly an hour; others mightspanafortnight,amonth,halfayear.Withsuchastructure,the narrative cannot bestrictlysequential; sometimesimportant things arehappening simultaneously, athousandleaguesapart.

In the case of the volumenow in hand, the readershould realize that the

opening chapters ofA Stormof Swords do not follow theclosingchaptersofAClashofKings so much as overlapthem. I open with a look atsome of the things that werehappening on the Fist of theFirst Men, at Riverrun,Harrenhal,andontheTridentwhile the Battle of theBlackwaterwas being foughtatKingsLanding,andduringitsaftermath...

GeorgeR.R.Martin

Clickheretoviewthemapsingreaterdetail:http://atrandom.com/sosmaps

http://atrandom.com/sosmaps

PROLOGUE

Thedaywasgreyandbitter

cold,and thedogswouldnottakethescent.

The big black bitch hadtaken one sniff at the beartracks, backed off, andskulkedbacktothepackwithhertailbetweenherlegs.Thedogs huddled togethermiserablyontheriverbankasthe wind snapped at them.Chett felt it too, bitingthrough his layers of black

wool and boiled leather. Itwas toobloodycold formanor beast, but here theywere.His mouth twisted, and hecould almost feel the boilsthat covered his cheeks andneckgrowingredandangry.Ishould be safe back at theWall, tending the bloodyravens and making fires forold Maester Aemon. It wasthe bastard Jon Snow whohadtakenthatfromhim,him

andhis fat friendSamTarly.Itwastheirfaulthewashere,freezing his bloody balls offwithapackofhoundsdeepinthehauntedforest.

Sevenhells.Hegavetheleashesahardyanktogetthedogs attention. Track, youbastards. Thats a bear print.You want somemeat or no?Find! But the hounds onlyhuddled closer, whining.

Chett snapped his short lashabove their heads, and theblack bitch snarled at him.Dog meat would taste asgoodasbear,hewarnedher,hisbreathfrostingwitheveryword.

Lark the Sisterman stoodwithhisarmscrossedoverhischestandhishandstuckedupinto his armpits. He woreblackwoolgloves,buthewas

always complaining how hisfingerswere frozen. Its toobloodycoldtohunt,hesaid.Bugger this bear, hes notworthfreezingover.

We cant go backemptyhand, Lark, rumbledSmallPaulthroughthebrownwhiskersthatcoveredmostofhis face. The LordCommander wouldnt likethat.Therewasiceunderthe

bigmanssquashedpugnose,wherehis snothad frozen.Ahugehandinathickfurgloveclenched tight around theshaftofaspear.

Bugger that Old Beartoo, said the Sisterman, athin man with sharp featuresand nervous eyes. Mormontwillbedeadbeforedaybreak,remember? Who cares whathelikes?

Small Paul blinked hisblack little eyes. Maybe hehad forgotten,Chett thought;he was stupid enough toforget most anything. Whydo we have to kill the OldBear?Why dont we just gooffandlethimbe?

Youthinkhellletusbe?said Lark. Hell hunt usdown.Youwanttobehunted,yougreatmuttonhead?

No, said Small Paul. Idontwantthat.Idont.

So youll kill him? saidLark.

Yes. The huge manstamped thebutt ofhis spearon the frozen riverbank. Iwill.Heshouldnthuntus.

The Sisterman took hishands from his armpits and

turned toChett. Weneed tokillalltheofficers,Isay.

Chett was sick of hearingit. We been over this. TheOld Bear dies, and Blanefrom the Shadow Tower.Grubbs and Aethan as well,their ill luck for drawing thewatch, Dywen and Bannenfor their tracking, and SerPiggy for the ravens. Thatsall.Wekillthemquiet,while

they sleep. One scream andwere wormfood, every oneof us. His boils were redwith rage. Just do your bitand see that your cousins dotheirs. And Paul, try andremember, its third watch,notsecond.

Thirdwatch,thebigmansaid, through hair and frozensnot. Me and Softfoot. Iremember,Chett.

Themoonwould be blacktonight,andtheyhadjiggeredthe watches so as to haveeight of their own standingsentry, with two moreguardingthehorses.Itwasntgoing to getmuch riper thanthat. Besides, the wildlingscould be upon them any daynow. Chett meant to be wellaway from here before thathappened.Hemeanttolive.

Three hundred swornbrothersoftheNightsWatchhad ridden north, twohundred from Castle BlackandanotherhundredfromtheShadow Tower. It was thebiggest ranging in livingmemory, near a third of theWatchsstrength.Theymeantto find Ben Stark, SerWaymarRoyce,andtheotherrangers whod gonemissing,and discover why the

wildlings were leaving theirvillages. Well, they were nocloser to Stark and Roycethan when theyd left theWall, but theyd learnedwhere all the wildlings hadgoneupintotheicyheightsof the godsforsakenFrostfangs. They could squatup there till the end of timeand itwouldnt prickChettsboilsnone.

Butno.Theywerecomingdown.DowntheMilkwater.

Chett raised his eyes andthereitwas.Theriversstonybankswerebeardedbyice,itspale milky waters flowingendlessly down out of theFrostfangs. And now ManceRayder and his wildlingswere flowing down the sameway. Thoren Smallwood hadreturnedinalatherthreedays

past.WhilehewastellingtheOldBearwhathisscoutshadseen,hismanKedgeWhiteyetold the rest of them.Theyre still well up thefoothills, but theyrecoming, Kedge said,warming his hands over thefire. Harma the Dogsheadhas the van, the poxy bitch.Goady crept up on her campandsawherplainbythefire.That fool Tumberjon wanted

topickheroffwithanarrow,but Smallwood had bettersense.

Chett spat. How manywerethere,couldyoutell?

Many andmore. Twenty,thirty thousand, we didntstaytocount.Harmahadfivehundredinthevan,everyoneahorse.

The men around the fireexchanged uneasy looks. Itwasararethingtofindevenadozenmountedwildlings,andfivehundred...

Smallwood sent Bannenandmewide around the vanto catch a peek at the mainbody, Kedge went on.There was no end of them.Theyre moving slow as afrozenriver,four,fivemilesa

day, but they dont look liketheymeantogobacktotheirvillages neither. Moren halfwere women and children,and they were driving theiranimals before them, goats,sheep,evenaurochsdraggingsledges. Theyd loaded upwithbalesoffurandsidesofmeat, cages of chickens,butter churns and spinningwheels, every damn thingthey own. The mules and

garrons was so heavy ladenyoudthinktheirbackswouldbreak.Thewomenaswell.

And they follow theMilkwater? Lark theSistermanasked.

Isaidso,didntI?

TheMilkwaterwould takethempasttheFistoftheFirstMen, the ancient ringfort

wheretheNightsWatchhadmadeitscamp.Anymanwitha thimble of sense could seethat it was time to pull upstakes and fall back on theWall. The Old Bear hadstrengthened the Fist withspikes and pits and caltrops,butagainstsuchahostallthatwas pointless. If they stayedhere, theywouldbeengulfedandoverwhelmed.

And Thoren Smallwoodwanted to attack. SweetDonnelHillwassquiretoSerMallador Locke, and thenight before last SmallwoodhadcometoLockestent.SerMallador had been of thesame mind as old Ser OttynWythers, urging a retreat onthe Wall, but Smallwoodwanted to convince himotherwise. This King-beyond-the-Wall will never

look for us so far north,Sweet Donnel reported himsaying. And this great hostof his is a shambling horde,full of useless mouths whowont know what end of aswordtohold.Oneblowwilltakeall the fightoutof themand send them howling backto their hovels for anotherfiftyyears.

Three hundred against

thirty thousand. Chett calledthat rank madness, and whatwasmadderstillwasthatSerMalladorhadbeenpersuaded,and the twoof them togetherwere on the point ofpersuading the Old Bear. Ifwewaittoolong,thischancemay be lost, never to comeagain, Smallwood wassaying to anyonewhowouldlisten.Againstthat,SerOttynWythers said, We are the

shield that guards the realmsof men. You do not throwawayyourshieldfornogoodpurpose, but to that ThorenSmallwood said, In aswordfight, a mans surestdefense is the swift strokethatslayshisfoe,notcringingbehindashield.

Neither Smallwood norWythers had the command,though. Lord Mormont did,

andMormontwaswaitingforhis other scouts, for JarmanBuckwellandthemenwhodclimbedtheGiantsStair,andforQhorinHalfhand and JonSnow, whod gone to probethe Skirling Pass. BuckwellandtheHalfhandwerelateinreturning,though.Dead,mostlike.ChettpicturedJonSnowlying blue and frozen onsomebleakmountaintopwitha wildling spear up his

bastards arse. The thoughtmade him smile. I hope theykilledhisbloodywolfaswell.

Theres nobear here, hedecidedabruptly.Justanoldprint, thats all. Back to theFist. The dogs almostyanked him off his feet, aseager to get back as hewas.Maybe they thought theywere going to get fed. Chetthad to laugh. He hadnt fed

them for three days now, toturn them mean and hungry.Tonight, before slipping offinto the dark, hed turn themloose among the horse lines,after Sweet Donnel Hill andClubfootKarlcut the tethers.Theyll have snarling houndsandpanickedhorses all overthe Fist, running throughfires, jumping the ringwall,and trampling down tents.With all the confusion, it

mightbehoursbeforeanyonenoticed that fourteenbrothersweremissing.

Lark had wanted to bringin twice that number, butwhat could you expect fromsome stupid fishbreathSisterman? Whisper a wordin the wrong ear and beforeyouknew ityoudbeshortahead. No, fourteen was agood number, enough to do

whatneededdoingbutnotsomany that theycouldntkeepthesecret.Chetthadrecruitedmost of them himself. SmallPaul was one of his; thestrongest man on the Wall,even if hewas slower than adeadsnail.Hedoncebrokenawildlingsbackwithahug.TheyhadDirkaswell,namedfor his favorite weapon, andthe little grey man thebrothers called Softfoot,

whod raped a hundredwomen in his youth, andliked to boast how none hadeverseennorheardhimuntilheshoveditupinsidethem.

The plan was Chetts. Hewasthecleverone;hedbeensteward to old MaesterAemon for four good yearsbefore thatbastard JonSnowhad done him out so his jobcouldbehandedtohisfatpig

of a friend. When he killedSam Tarly tonight, heplannedtowhisper,Givemylove to Lord Snow, right inhis ear before he sliced SerPiggys throatopen to let theblood come bubbling outthrough all those layers ofsuet. Chett knew the ravens,so he wouldnt have notroublethere,nomorethanhewouldwithTarly.One touchof the knife and that craven

wouldpisshispantsandstartblubbering for his life. Lethim beg, it wont do him nogood. After he opened histhroat, hed open the cagesand shoo the birds away, sono messages reached theWall.SoftfootandSmallPaulwouldkilltheOldBear,Dirkwould do Blane, and LarkandhiscousinswouldsilenceBannen and old Dywen, tokeepthemfromsniffingafter

their trail. Theyd beencaching food for a fortnight,and Sweet Donnel andClubfootKarlwouldhavethehorses ready.WithMormontdead,commandwouldpasstoSer Ottyn Wythers, an olddone man, and failing.Hellbe running for the Wallbeforesundown,andhewontwaste no men sending themafterusneither.

The dogs pulled at him astheymade theirway throughthe trees.Chett could see theFist punching its way upthrough the green. The daywassodarkthattheOldBearhad the torches lit, a greatcircle of them burning allalong the ringwall thatcrowned the top of the steepstony hill. The three of themwaded across a brook. Thewater was icy cold, and

patchesoficewerespreadingacrossitssurface.Imgoingto make for the coast, Larkthe Sisterman confided. Meand my cousins. Well buildus a boat, sail back home totheSisters.

And at home theyll knowyou for deserters and lop offyour fool heads, thoughtChett. There was no leavingtheNightsWatch, once you

saidyourwords.Anywhereinthe Seven Kingdoms, theydtakeyouandkillyou.

OlloLophandnow,hewastalking about sailing back toTyrosh, where he claimedmen didnt lose their handsfor a bit of honest thievery,norgetsentofftofreezetheirlife away for being found inbedwith someknightswife.Chetthadweighedgoingwith

him,buthedidntspeaktheirwet girly tongue. And whatcould he do in Tyrosh? Hehad no trade to speak of,growing up in Hags Mire.His father had spent his lifegrubbing in other mensfields and collecting leeches.Hed strip downbare but fora thick leather clout, and gowading in themurkywaters.Whenheclimbedouthedbecoveredfromnippletoankle.

Sometimes he made Chetthelppulltheleechesoff.Onehadattacheditselftohispalmonce, and hed smashed itagainst a wall in revulsion.His father beat him bloodyforthat.Themaestersboughtthe leeches at twelve-for-a-penny.

Lark could go home if heliked, and the damn Tyroshitoo,butnotChett.Ifhenever

saw Hags Mire again, itwouldbetoobloodysoon.Hehad liked the look ofCrasters Keep, himself.Craster lived high as a lordthere,sowhyshouldnthedothe same? That would be alaugh. Chett the leechmansson, a lord with a keep. Hisbanner could be a dozenleechesonafieldofpink.Butwhy stop at lord? Maybe heshould be a king. Mance

Rayder started out a crow. Icouldbeakingsameashim,and have me some wives.Craster had nineteen, noteven counting the youngones, thedaughtershehadntgottenaroundtobeddingyet.Half themwiveswere as oldand ugly as Craster, but thatdidnt matter. The old onesChett could put to workcookingandcleaningforhim,pulling carrots and slopping

pigs, while the young oneswarmedhisbedandborehischildren. Craster wouldntobject, not once Small Paulgavehimahug.

TheonlywomenChetthadever knownwere thewhoreshedboughtinMolesTown.Whenhedbeenyounger,thevillagegirls tookone lookathisface,withitsboilsanditswen, and turned away

sickened.Theworstwas thatslattern Bessa. Shed spreadher legs for every boy inHags Mire so hed figuredwhy not him too? He evenspent a morning pickingwildflowers when he heardshelikedthem,butshedjustlaughed in his face and toldhimshedcrawlinabedwithhis fathers leeches beforeshed crawl in onewith him.She stopped laughing when

he put his knife in her. Thatwas sweet, the look on herface, so he pulled the knifeout and put it in her again.When they caught him downnear Sevenstreams, old LordWalder Frey hadnt evenbothered to come himself todothejudging.Hedsentoneof his bastards, that WalderRivers, and the next thingChett had known he waswalkingtotheWallwiththat

foul-smelling black devilYoren. To pay for his onesweetmoment, they took hiswholelife.

Butnowhemeanttotakeitback, and Crasters womentoo.That twistedoldwildlinghastherightofit.Ifyouwantawomantowifeyoutakeher,and none of this giving herflowers so that maybe shedont notice your bloody

boils. Chett didnt mean tomakethatmistakeagain.

Itwouldwork,hepromisedhimself for the hundredthtime.Solongaswegetawayclean.SerOttynwouldstrikesouth for theShadowTower,the shortestway to theWall.Hewont botherwith us, notWythers, all hell want is toget back whole. ThorenSmallwoodnow,hedwantto

press on with the attack, butSer Ottyns caution ran toodeep, and he was senior. Itwont matter anyhow. Oncewere gone, Smallwood canattack anyone he likes.Whatdowe care? If none of themever returns to the Wall, noone will ever come lookingfor us, theyll think we diedwiththerest.Thatwasanewthought, and for amoment ittemptedhim.But theywould

needtokillSerOttynandSerMallador Locke as well togive Smallwood thecommand, and both of themwere well-attended day andnight...no,theriskwastoogreat.

Chett,saidSmallPaulasthey trudged along a stonygame trail through sentinelsand soldier pines, whataboutthebird?

What bloody bird? Thelastthingheneedednowwassome mutton-head going onaboutabird.

The Old Bears raven,Small Paul said. If we killhim,whos going to feed hisbird?

Who bloody well cares?Killthebirdtooifyoulike.

I dont want to hurt nobird, thebigmansaid.Butthats a talking bird.What ifittellswhatwedid?

Lark the Sistermanlaughed.SmallPaul,thickasacastlewall,hemocked.

You shut up with that,saidSmallPauldangerously.

Paul, said Chett, before

the big man got too angry,when they find the oldmanlying inapoolofbloodwithhis throat slit, they wontneed no bird to tell themsomeonekilledhim.

SmallPaulchewedon thata moment. Thats true, heallowed.CanIkeepthebird,then?Ilikethatbird.

Hes yours, said Chett,

justtoshuthimup.

Wecanalwayseathimifwegethungry,offeredLark.

Small Paul clouded upagain. Best not try and eatmybird,Lark.Bestnot.

Chett could hear voicesdrifting through the trees.Close your bloody mouths,bothofyou.Werealmost to

theFist.

They emerged near thewest face of the hill, andwalked around south wherethe slope was gentler. Neartheedgeoftheforestadozenmen were taking archerypractice. They had carvedoutlines on the trunks oftrees,andwereloosingshaftsat them. Look, said Lark.Apigwithabow.

Sure enough, the nearestbowman was Ser Piggyhimself, the fat boywhohadstolenhisplacewithMaesterAemon. Just the sight ofSamwell Tarly filled himwith anger. Stewarding forMaester Aemon had been asgood a life as hed everknown. The old blind manwas undemanding, andClydashadtakencareofmostof hiswants anyway.Chetts

dutieswereeasy:cleaningtherookery, a few fires to build,a fewmeals to fetch . . . andAemon never once hit him.Thinks he can just walk inandshovemeout,onaccountof being highborn andknowing how to read. Mightbe Ill ask him to read myknifebeforeIopenhis throatwith it. Yougoon,he toldthe others, I want to watchthis.Thedogswerepulling,

anxious to go with them, tothe food they thought wouldbe waiting at the top. Chettkicked the bitchwith the toeof his boot, and that settledthemdownsome.

Hewatched from the treesasthefatboywrestledwithalongbowastallashewas,hisred moon face screwed upwith concentration. Threearrows stood in the ground

beforehim.Tarlynockedanddrew, held the draw a longmoment as he tried to aim,and let fly. The shaftvanished into the greenery.Chett laughed loudly, a snortofsweetdisgust.

Wellneverfindthatone,and Ill be blamed,announced Edd Tollett, thedour grey-haired squireeveryone called Dolorous

Edd. Nothing ever goesmissing that they dont lookat me, ever since that time Ilostmyhorse.Asifthatcouldbehelped.Hewaswhite anditwassnowing,whatdidtheyexpect?

Thewind took that one,saidGrenn, another friendofLord Snows. Try to holdthebowsteady,Sam.

Its heavy, the fat boycomplained,buthepulledthesecond arrow all the same.This one went high, sailingthrough thebranches ten feetabovethetarget.

I believe you knocked aleaf off that tree, saidDolorousEdd.Fallisfallingfast enough, theres no needto help it. He sighed. Andwe all know what follows

fall. Gods, but I am cold.Shoot the last arrow,Samwell,Ibelievemytongueis freezing to the roof ofmymouth.

SerPiggyloweredthebow,and Chett thought he wasgoing to start bawling. Itstoohard.

Notch, draw, and loose,saidGrenn.Goon.

Dutifully, the fat boyplucked his final arrow fromthe earth, notched it to hislongbow,drew, and released.He did it quickly, withoutsquinting along the shaftpainstakingly as he had thefirst two times. The arrowstruck the charcoal outlinelow in the chest and hungquivering. I hit him. SerPiggy sounded shocked.Grenn, did you see? Edd,

look,Ihithim!

Putitbetweenhisribs,Idsay,saidGrenn.

Did I kill him? the fatboywantedtoknow.

Tollett shrugged. Mighthave punctured a lung, if hehada lung.Most treesdont,as a rule. He took the bowfrom Sams hand. Ive seen

worseshots,though.Aye,andmadeafew.

SerPiggywasbeaming.Tolookat himyoud thinkhedactuallydone something.Butwhen he saw Chett and thedogs,hissmilecurledupanddiedsqueaking.

You hit a tree, Chettsaid. Lets see how youshoot when its Mance

Rayders lads. They wontstand there with their armsout and their leaves rustling,oh no. Theyll come right atyou, screaming in your face,and I bet youll piss thosebreeches. One o them willplant his axe right betweenthose little pig eyes.The lastthing youll hear will be thethunk it makes when it bitesintoyourskull.

The fat boy was shaking.Dolorous Edd put a hand onhis shoulder. Brother, hesaid solemnly, just becauseit happened thatway foryoudoesnt mean Samwell willsufferthesame.

What are you talkingabout,Tollett?

The axe that split yourskull. Is it true thathalfyour

witsleakedoutonthegroundandyourdogsatethem?

The big lout Grennlaughed, and even SamwellTarly managed a weak littlesmile. Chett kicked thenearest dog, yanked on theirleashes, and started up thehill. Smile all you want, SerPiggy. Well see who laughstonight. He only wished hehad time to kill Tollett as

well.Gloomyhorsefacedfool,thatswhatheis.

The climbwas steep, evenonthissideoftheFist,whichhad the gentlest slope.Partway up the dogs startedbarking and pulling at him,figuring that theyd get fedsoon.Hegavethematasteofhis boot instead, and a crackof the whip for the big uglyone that snapped at him.

Once they were tied up, hewent to report. The printsweretherelikeGiantsaid,butthe dogs wouldnt track, hetoldMormont in front of hisbigblack tent. Downby theriver like that, could be oldprints.

Apity.LordCommanderMormonthadabaldheadanda great shaggy grey beard,and sounded as tired as he

looked. We might all havebeen better for a bit of freshmeat. The raven on hisshoulderbobbed itsheadandechoed,Meat.Meat.Meat.

We could cook the bloodydogs, Chett thought, but hekept hismouth shut until theOld Bear sent him on hisway.And thats the last timeIll need to bow my head tothat one, he thought to

himself with satisfaction. Itseemed to him that it wasgrowing even colder, whichhe would have sworn wasntpossible. The dogs huddledtogethermiserablyinthehardfrozen mud, and Chett washalf tempted tocrawl inwiththem. Instead he wrapped ablack wool scarf round thelowerpartofhisface,leavinga slit for his mouth betweenthe winds. It was warmer if

hekeptmoving,hefound,sohemadeaslowcircuitof theperimeter with a wad ofsourleaf, sharing a chew ortwo with the black brotherson guard and hearing whatthey had to say.None of themen on the day watch werepart of his scheme; even so,he figured it was good tohavesomesenseofwhattheywerethinking.

Mostly what they werethinking was that it wasbloodycold.

Thewindwasrisingastheshadows lengthened. Itmadea high thin sound as itshiveredthroughthestonesofthe ringwall. I hate thatsound, little Giant said. Itsounds like a babe in thebrush, wailing away formilk.

When he finished thecircuit and returned to thedogs, he found Lark waitingfor him. The officers are inthe Old Bears tent again,talkingsomethingfierce.

Thatswhattheydo,saidChett. Theyre highborn, allbutBlane, they get drunk onwordsinsteadofwine.

Lark sidled closer.

Cheese-for-witskeepsgoingon about the bird, hewarned, glancing about tomake certain no one wasclose.Nowhesaskingifwecachedanyseedforthedamnthing.

Its a raven, said Chett.Iteatscorpses.

Lark grinned. His, mightbe?

Or yours. It seemed toChettthattheyneededthebigman more than they neededLark. Stop fretting aboutSmallPaul.Youdoyourpart,helldohis.

Twilight was creepingthrough the woods by thetime he rid himself of theSisterman and sat down toedgehissword.Itwasbloodyhardworkwithhisgloveson,

but he wasnt about to takethemoff.Coldas itwas,anyfool that touchedsteelwithabarehandwasgoingtoloseapatchofskin.

Thedogswhimperedwhenthe sunwent down.He gavethemwaterandcurses. Halfa night more, and you canfindyourownfeast.Bythenhecouldsmellsupper.

Dywen was holding forthat the cookfire as Chett gothis heel of hardbread and abowlofbeanandbaconsoupfrom Hake the cook. Thewoods too silent, the oldforester was saying. Nofrogsnear that river,noowlsin the dark. I never heard nodeaderwoodthanthis.

Them teeth of yourssound pretty dead, said

Hake.

Dywenclackedhiswoodenteeth. No wolves neither.There was, before, but nomore. Whered they go, youfigure?

Someplace warm, saidChett.

Of the dozen odd brotherswhosatbythefire,fourwere

his.Hegaveeachoneahardsquinty lookasheate, toseeif any showed signs ofbreaking. Dirk seemed calmenough, sitting silent andsharpeninghisblade,thewayhe did every night. AndSweet Donnel Hill was alleasy japes. He had whiteteeth and fat red lips andyellow locks that he wore inan artful tumble about hisshoulders, and he claimed to

be the bastard of someLannister. Maybe he was atthat. Chett had no use forpretty boys, nor for bastardsneither, but Sweet Donnelseemedliketoholdhisown.

He was less certain aboutthe forester the brotherscalledSawwood,moreforhissnoring than for anything todo with trees. Just now helooked so restless he might

never snore again. AndMaslyn was worse. Chettcould see sweat tricklingdown his face, despite thefrigid wind. The beads ofmoisture sparkled in thefirelight, like so many littlewet jewels. Maslyn wasnteatingneither,onlystaringathis soup as if the smell of itwas about tomake him sick.Ill need to watch that one,Chettthought.

Assemble! The shoutcamesuddenly,fromadozenthroats,andquicklyspreadtoevery part of the hilltopcamp. Men of the NightsWatch! Assemble at thecentralfire!

Frowning, Chett finishedhis soup and followed therest.

TheOldBearstoodbefore

the fire with Smallwood,Locke, Wythers, and Blaneranged behind him in a row.Mormont wore a cloak ofthickblackfur,andhisravenperched upon his shoulder,preening its black feathers.This cant be good. Chettsqueezed between BrownBernarr and some ShadowTower men. When everyonewas gathered, save for thewatchersinthewoodsandthe

guards on the ringwall,Mormont cleared his throatand spat. The spittle wasfrozen before it hit theground. Brothers, he said,menoftheNightsWatch.

Men! his ravenscreamed.Men!Men!

The wildlings are on themarch, following the courseoftheMilkwaterdownoutof

the mountains. Thorenbelieves their van will beuponustendayshence.TheirmostseasonedraiderswillbewithHarmaDogsheadinthatvan.Therestwilllikelyforma rearguard, or ride in closecompanywithManceRayderhimself. Elsewhere theirfighters will be spread thinalongthelineofmarch.Theyhaveoxen,mules,horses . . .butfewenough.Mostwillbe

afoot, and ill-armed anduntrained. Such weapons astheycarryaremoreliketobestone and bone than steel.They are burdened withwomen, children, herds ofsheepandgoats,andall theirworldly goods besides. Inshort, though they arenumerous, they arevulnerable . . . and they donotknowthatwearehere.Orsowemustpray.

They know, thought Chett.Youbloodyoldpusbag, theyknow, certain as sunrise.QhorinHalfhandhasntcomeback, has he? Nor JarmanBuckwell. If any of them gotcaught, you know damnedwell the wildlings will havewrung a song or two out ofthembynow.

Smallwood steppedforward. Mance Rayder

means to break theWall andbring red war to the SevenKingdoms. Well, thats agame two can play. On themorrowwellbringthewartohim.

We ride at dawnwith allour strength, the Old Bearsaid as a murmur wentthrough the assembly. Wewill ride north, and looparound to the west. Harmas

vanwillbewellpast theFistby the time we turn. ThefoothillsoftheFrostfangsarefull of narrow windingvalleys made for ambush.Their line of march willstretch for many miles. Weshall fall on them in severalplaces at once, and makethem swear we were threethousand,notthreehundred.

Well hit hard and be

away before their horsemencan form up to face us,Thoren Smallwood said. Iftheypursue,wellleadthemamerry chase, then wheel andhit again farther down thecolumn. Well burn theirwagons, scatter their herds,and slay asmany aswe can.ManceRayderhimself, ifwefind him. If they break andreturn to their hovels, wevewon. Ifnot,wellharry them

all the way to theWall, andseetoitthattheyleaveatrailof corpses to mark theirprogress.

There are thousands,someone called from behindChett.

Well die. That wasMaslyns voice, green withfear.

Die, screamedMormontsraven,flappingitsblackwings.Die,die,die.

Manyofus,theOldBearsaid.Mayhapsevenallofus.But as another LordCommander said a thousandyears ago, that is why theydress us in black.Rememberyourwords,brothers.Forweare the swords in thedarkness, thewatchersonthe

walls...

Thefirethatburnsagainstthe cold. Ser MalladorLockedrewhislongsword.

The light that brings thedawn, others answered, andmore swords were pulledfromscabbards.

Then all of them weredrawing,anditwasnearthree

hundred upraised swords andas many voices crying, Thehornthatwakesthesleepers!The shield that guards therealmsofmen!Chetthadnochoicebuttojoinhisvoicetotheothers.Theairwasmistywiththeirbreath,andfirelightglinted off the steel. He waspleased to see Lark andSoftfoot and Sweet DonnelHilljoiningin,asiftheywereas big fools as the rest. That

was good. No sense to drawattention, when their hourwassoclose.

When the shouting diedaway,oncemoreheheardthesoundof thewind picking atthe ringwall. The flamesswirled and shivered, as iftheytoowerecold,andinthesudden quiet the Old Bearsravencawed loudlyandonceagainsaid,Die.

Clever bird, thought Chettas the officers dismissedthem, warning everyone toget a good meal and a longrest tonight. Chett crawledunder his furs near the dogs,his head full of things thatcouldgowrong.What if thatbloodyoathgaveoneofhisachange of heart? Or SmallPaul forgot and tried to killMormont during the secondwatch in place of the third?

Or Maslyn lost his courage,or someone turned informer,or...

He found himself listeningto the night. The wind didsound like a wailing child,and from time to time hecould hear mens voices, ahorseswhinny,alogspittingin the fire. But nothing else.Soquiet.

He could see Bessas facefloatingbeforehim.Itwasntthe knife I wanted to put inyou, he wanted to tell her. Ipickedyouflowers,wildrosesand tansy and goldencups, ittook me all morning. Hisheart was thumping like adrum, so loud he feared itmight wake the camp. Icecakedhisbeardallaroundhismouth.Where did that comefrom, with Bessa? Whenever

hed thoughtofherbefore, ithad only been to remembertheway shed looked, dying.What was wrong with him?Hecouldhardlybreathe.Hadhe gone to sleep? He got tohisknees,andsomethingwetand cold touched his nose.Chettlookedup.

Snowwasfalling.

Hecouldfeeltearsfreezing

tohischeeks. It isnt fair, hewanted to scream. Snowwould ruin everything hedworked for, all his carefulplans. It was a heavy fall,thick white flakes comingdown all about him. Howwould they find their foodcaches in the snow, or thegame trail they meant tofolloweast?TheywontneedDywennorBannentohuntusdown neither, not if were

tracking through fresh snow.And snow hid the shape ofthe ground, especially bynight.Ahorse could stumbleover a root, break a leg on astone. Were done, herealized. Done before webegan.Werelost.Theredbeno lords life for theleechmans son, no keep tocall his own, no wives norcrowns. Only a wildlingssword in his belly, and then

an unmarked grave. Thesnowstakenitallfromme...thebloodysnow...

Snowhadruinedhimoncebefore.Snowandhispetpig.

Chett got to his feet. Hislegswerestiff,andthefallingsnowflakes turned the distanttorches to vague orangeglows. He felt as though hewere being attacked by a

cloudofpalecoldbugs.Theysettled on his shoulders, onhishead,theyflewathisnoseand his eyes. Cursing, hebrushed them off. SamwellTarly, he remembered. I canstill deal with Ser Piggy. Hewrapped his scarf around hisface,pulleduphishood,andwent striding through thecamp to where the cowardslept.

The snow was falling soheavilythathegotlostamongthe tents, but finally hespotted the snug littlewindbreak the fat boy hadmade for himself between arock and the raven cages.Tarly was buried beneath amound of black woolblanketsandshaggyfurs.Thesnowwasdriftingintocoverhim. He looked like somekind of soft roundmountain.

Steel whispered on leatherfaint as hope as Chett easedhis dagger from its sheath.One of the ravens quorked.Snow, another muttered,peeringthroughthebarswithblack eyes.The first added aSnowofitsown.Heedgedpast them, placing each footcarefully. He would clap hisleft hand down over the fatboys mouth to muffle hiscries,andthen...

Uuuuuuuhoooooooooo.

He stopped midstep,swallowing his curse as thesound of the horn shudderedthrough the camp, faint andfar, yet unmistakable. Notnow. Gods be damned, notNOW! The Old Bear hadhidden far-eyes in a ring oftrees around the Fist, to givewarning of any approach.JarmanBuckwellsbackfrom

the Giants Stair, Chettfigured,orQhorinHalf-handfrom the Skirling Pass. Asingleblastofthehornmeantbrothers returning. If it wasthe Halfhand, Jon Snowmightbewithhim,alive.

Sam Tarly sat up puffy-eyedandstaredatthesnowinconfusion. The ravens werecawing noisily, and Chettcould hear his dogs baying.

Half the bloody campsawake. His gloved fingersclenchedaround thedaggershiltashewaitedforthesoundto die away. But no soonerhad it gone than it cameagain,louderandlonger.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuhooooooooooooooo.

Gods, he heard SamTarly whimper. The fat boylurched to his knees, his feet

tangled in his cloak andblankets. He kicked themaway and reached for achainmail hauberk hed hungon the rock nearby. As heslipped the huge tent of agarment down over his headandwriggledintoit,hespiedChett standing there. Was ittwo?heasked.IdreamedIheardtwoblasts...

No dream, said Chett.

TwoblaststocalltheWatchto arms. Two blasts for foesapproaching. Theres an axeout there withPiggy writ onit, fatboy.Twoblastsmeanswildlings. The fear on thatbig moon face made himwant to laugh. Bugger themall to seven hells. BloodyHarma. Bloody ManceRayder. Bloody Smallwood,he said they wouldnt be onusforanother

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Thesoundwentonandonand on, until it seemed itwould never die. The ravenswereflappingandscreaming,flying about their cages andbanging off the bars, and allabout the camp the brothersof the Nights Watch wererising, donning their armor,buckling on swordbelts,reaching for battleaxes and

bows. Samwell Tarly stoodshaking, his face the samecolorasthesnowthatswirleddown all around them.Three, he squeaked toChett,thatwasthree,Iheardthree.Theyneverblowthree.Not for hundreds andthousands of years. Threemeans

Others. Chett made asound that was half a laugh

and half a sob, and suddenlyhis smallclothes were wet,and he could feel the pissrunning down his leg, seesteam rising off the front ofhisbreeches.

JAIME

An east wind blew through

his tangled hair, as soft andfragrant as Cerseis fingers.He could hear birds singing,and feel the river movingbeneaththeboatasthesweepof the oars sent them towardthe pale pink dawn.After solong in darkness, the worldwas so sweet that JaimeLannister felt dizzy. I amalive, and drunk on sunlight.A laugh burst from his lips,sudden as a quail flushed

fromcover.

Quiet, the wenchgrumbled, scowling. Scowlssuitedherbroadhomely facebetter than a smile. Not thatJaime had ever seen hersmiling. He amused himselfby picturing her in one ofCerseis silken gowns inplace of her studded leatherjerkin.Aswelldressacowinsilkasthisone.

But the cow could row.Beneathherroughspunbrownbreeches were calves likecords of wood, and the longmusclesofherarmsstretchedand tightened with eachstrokeof theoars.Evenafterrowing half the night, sheshowed no signs of tiring,which was more than couldbe said for his cousin SerCleos, laboring on the otheroar. A big strong peasant

wench to lookather,yet shespeakslikeonehighbornandwearslongswordanddagger.Ah, but can she use them?Jaime meant to find out, assoon as he rid himself ofthesefetters.

Hewore ironmanacles onhiswristsandamatchingpairabout his ankles, joined by alength of heavy chain nomore than a foot long.

Youd think my word as aLannister was not goodenough, hed japed as theybound him. Hed been verydrunk by then, thanks toCatelynStark.Oftheirescapefrom Riverrun, he recalledonly bits and pieces. Therehad been some trouble withthegaoler,but thebigwenchhadovercomehim.Afterthatthey had climbed an endlessstair, aroundandaround.His

legswereweakasgrass, andhedstumbledtwiceorthrice,until the wench lent him anarmtoleanon.Atsomepointhe was bundled into atravelers cloak and shovedintothebottomofaskiff.HerememberedlisteningtoLadyCatelyn command someoneto raise the portcullis on theWaterGate.ShewassendingSerCleosFreybacktoKingsLanding with new terms for

thequeen,sheddeclaredinatone that brooked noargument.

He must have drifted offthen.Thewinehadmadehimsleepy, and it felt good tostretch, a luxury his chainshad not permitted him in thecell. Jaime had long agolearned tosnatchsleep in thesaddle during a march. Thiswas no harder. Tyrion is

going to laugh himself sickwhen he hears how I sleptthrough my own escape. Hewas awakenow, though, andthefetterswereirksome.Mylady,hecalledout,ifyoullstrike off these chains, Illspellyouatthoseoars.

She scowled again, herface all horse teeth andglowering suspicion. Youllwear your chains,

Kingslayer.

You figure to row all theway to Kings Landing,wench?

YouwillcallmeBrienne.Notwench.

My name is Ser Jaime.NotKingslayer.

Do you deny that youslewaking?

No. Do you deny yoursex? If so, unlace thosebreeches and show me. Hegave her an innocent smile.Id ask you to open yourbodice, but from the look ofyou that wouldnt provemuch.

SerCleos fretted. Cousin,rememberyourcourtesies.

The Lannister blood runs

thininthisone.CleoswashisAunt Gennas son by thatdullard Emmon Frey, whohad lived in terror of LordTywin Lannister since theday he wed his sister.WhenLord Walder Frey hadbrought the Twins into thewar on the side of Riverrun,Ser Emmon had chosen hiswifes allegiance over hisfathers. Casterly Rock gotthe worst of that bargain,

Jaime reflected. Ser Cleoslooked like a weasel, foughtlike a goose, and had thecourage of an especiallybrave ewe. Lady Stark hadpromised him release if hedelivered her message toTyrion, and Ser Cleos hadsolemnlyvowedtodoso.

Theyd all done a deal ofvowing back in that cell,Jaime most of all. That was

Lady Catelyns price forloosinghim.Shehadlaidthepoint of the big wenchssword against his heart andsaid, Swear that you willnever again take up armsagainst Stark nor Tully.Swear that you will compelyour brother to honor hispledgetoreturnmydaughterssafeandunharmed.Swearonyour honor as a knight, onyourhonorasaLannister,on

your honor as a SwornBrother of the Kingsguard.Swear itbyyour sisters life,and your fathers, and yoursons,bytheoldgodsandthenew,andIllsendyoubacktoyoursister.Refuse,andIwillhave your blood. Heremembered the prick of thesteel through his rags as shetwisted the point of thesword.

I wonder what the HighSepton would have to sayabout the sanctity of oathssworn while dead drunk,chained to a wall, with aswordpressed toyourchest?Not that Jaime was trulyconcerned about that fatfraud,orthegodsheclaimedto serve.He remembered thepailLadyCatelynhadkickedover in his cell. A strangewoman, to trusthergirls toa

man with shit for honor.Thoughshewas trustinghimas little as she dared. She isputting her hope in Tyrion,notinme.Perhapssheisnotso stupid after all, he saidaloud.

Hiscaptortookitwrong.Iamnotstupid.Nordeaf.

He was gentle with her;mockingthisonewouldbeso

easy therewouldbeno sportto it. I was speaking tomyself,andnotofyou.Itsaneasy habit to slip into in acell.

She frowned at him,pushing the oars forward,pulling them back, pushingthemforward,sayingnothing.

Asglibof tongueas she isfairofface.Byyourspeech,

Idjudgeyounoblyborn.

My father is Selwyn ofTarth, by the grace of thegodsLordofEvenfall.Eventhatwasgivengrudgingly.

Tarth, Jaime said. Aghastly large rock in thenarrow sea, as I recall. AndEvenfall is sworn to StormsEnd.HowisitthatyouserveRobbofWinterfell?

ItisLadyCatelynIserve.And she commanded me todeliver you safe to yourbrother Tyrion at KingsLanding, not to bandywordswithyou.Besilent.

Ive had a bellyful ofsilence,woman.

TalkwithSerCleos then.I have no words formonsters.

Jaime hooted. Are theremonsters hereabouts? Hidingbeneath the water, perhaps?Inthatthickofwillows?Andmewithoutmysword!

Amanwhowouldviolatehis own sister, murder hisking, and fling an innocentchildtohisdeathdeservesnoothername.

Innocent? The wretched

boy was spying on us. AllJaime had wanted was anhouralonewithCersei.Theirjourney north had been onelong torment; seeing herevery day, unable to touchher, knowing that Robertstumbled drunkenly into herbed every night in that greatcreaking wheelhouse. Tyrionhaddonehisbesttokeephimin a good humor, but it hadnot been enough. You will

be courteous as concernsCersei, wench, he warnedher.

My name is Brienne, notwench.

What do you carewhat amonstercallsyou?

MynameisBrienne,sherepeated,doggedasahound.

Lady Brienne? She

looked so uncomfortable thatJaimesensedaweakness.OrwouldSerBriennebemoretoyourtaste?Helaughed.No,Ifearnot.Youcantrickoutamilk cow in crupper, crinet,and chamfron, and bard herall in silk, but that doesntmean you can ride her intobattle.

CousinJaime,please,youought not speak so roughly.

Under his cloak, Ser Cleosworeasurcoatquarteredwiththe twin towers of HouseFrey and the golden lion ofLannister. We have far togo, we should not quarrelamongstourselves.

When I quarrel I do itwith a sword, coz. I wasspeakingtothelady.Tellme,wench, are all thewomenonTarth as homely as you? I

pity the men, if so. Perhapsthey do not know what realwomen look like, livingonadrearymountaininthesea.

Tarth is beautiful, thewench grunted betweenstrokes. The Sapphire Isle,itscalled.Bequiet,monster,unlessyoumean tomakemegagyou.

Shes rude as well, isnt

she, coz? Jaime asked SerCleos. Though shehas steelin her spine, Ill grant you.Notmanymendarenamememonster tomyface.Thoughbehind my back they speakfreely enough, I have nodoubt.

Ser Cleos coughednervously.LadyBriennehadthoseliesfromCatelynStark,no doubt. The Starks cannot

hope to defeat you withswords, ser, so now theymake war with poisonedwords.

They did defeat me withswords, you chinless cretin.Jaime smiled knowingly.Men will read all sorts ofthings into a knowing smile,if you let them. Has cousinCleos truly swallowed thiskettle of dung, or is he

strivingtoingratiatehimself?What do we have here, anhonest muttonhead or alickspittle?

Ser Cleos prattled blithelyon. Anymanwhodbelievethat a Sworn Brother of theKingsguard would harm achild does not know themeaningofhonor.

Lickspittle. If truthbetold,

Jaime had come to rueheaving Brandon Stark outthat window. Cersei hadgiven him no end of griefafterward, when the boyrefusedtodie.Hewasseven,Jaime, shed berated him.Even if he understoodwhathesaw,weshouldhavebeenable to frighten him intosilence.

I didnt think youdwant

You never think. If theboy shouldwake and tell hisfatherwhathesaw

Ififif.Hehadpulledherinto his lap. If he wakeswell say he was dreaming,well call him a liar, andshould worse come to worstIllkillNedStark.

And then what do youimagineRobertwilldo?

Let Robert do as hepleases. Ill go to war withhim if I must. The War forCerseisCunt,thesingerswillcallit.

Jaime, let go ofme! sheraged,strugglingtorise.

Instead he had kissed her.

For a moment she resisted,but then her mouth openedunderhis.Herememberedthetaste of wine and cloves onher tongue. She gave ashudder.Hishandwenttoherbodice and yanked, tearingthesilk soherbreasts spilledfree,andfora time theStarkboyhadbeenforgotten.

Had Cersei rememberedhim afterward and hired this

man Lady Catelyn spoke of,to make sure the boy neverwoke? If she wanted himdeadshewouldhavesentme.Anditisnotlikehertochosea catspaw who would makesuch a royal botch of thekilling.

Downriver, the rising sunshimmered against the wind-whipped surface of the river.Thesouthshorewasredclay,

smooth as any road. Smallerstreams fed into the greater,and the rotting trunks ofdrowned trees clung to thebanks. The north shore waswilder.Highrockybluffsrosetwenty feet above them,crowned by stands of beech,oak, and chestnut. Jaimespied a watchtower on theheights ahead, growing tallerwitheverystrokeoftheoars.Long before they were upon

it, he knew that it stoodabandoned, its weatheredstones overgrown withclimbingroses.

Whenthewindshifted,SerCleos helped the big wenchrunupthesail,astifftriangleof striped red-and-bluecanvas. Tully colors, sure tocause them grief if theyencountered any Lannisterforcesontheriver,butitwas

the only sail they had.Brienne took the rudder.Jaimethrewouttheleeboard,his chains rattling as hemoved.Afterthat, theymadebetter speed, with wind andcurrent both favoring theirflight.Wecouldsaveadealof traveling if you deliveredmetomyfatherinsteadofmybrother,hepointedout.

Lady Catelyns daughters

are inKingsLanding. Iwillreturnwith thegirlsornotatall.

Jaime turned to SerCleos.Cousin,lendmeyourknife.

No. The woman tensed.Iwill not have you armed.Her voice was as unyieldingasstone.

Shefearsme,eveninirons.

Cleos, it seems I must askyou to shave me. Leave thebeard, but take the hair offmyhead.

Youd be shaved bald?askedCleosFrey.

The realm knows JaimeLannister as a beardlessknightwith longgoldenhair.A bald man with a filthyyellow beard may pass

unnoticed. Id sooner not berecognized while Im inirons.

The dagger was not assharp as it might have been.Cleoshackedawaymanfully,sawing and ripping his waythrough themats and tossingthe hair over the side. Thegolden curls floated on thesurface of the water,gradually falling astern. As

the tangles vanished, a lousewentcrawlingdownhisneck.Jaimecaughtitandcrusheditagainst his thumbnail. SerCleos picked others from hisscalp and flicked them intothe water. Jaime doused hishead and made Ser Cleoswhet the blade before he lethimscrapeawaythelastinchof yellow stubble.When thatwasdone, theytrimmedbackhisbeardaswell.

The reflection in thewaterwas aman he did not know.Notonlywashebald,buthelookedasthoughhehadagedfiveyearsinthatdungeon;hisface was thinner, withhollows under his eyes andlines he did not remember. Idont look as much likeCersei this way. Shell hatethat.

Bymidday, Ser Cleos had

fallen asleep. His snoressounded like ducks mating.Jaime stretched out to watchtheworldflowpast;after thedarkcell,everyrockandtreewasawonder.

A few one-room shackscame and went, perched ontallpolesthatmadethemlooklike cranes. Of the folk wholived there they sawno sign.Birds flewoverhead,orcried

out from the trees along theshore, and Jaime glimpsedsilvery fish knifing throughthewater.Tully trout, theresabadomen,hethought,untilhe saw a worseone of thefloating logs they passedturnedout tobeadeadman,bloodless and swollen. Hiscloakwastangledintherootsof a fallen tree, its colorunmistakably Lannistercrimson. Hewondered if the

corpse had been someone heknew.

The forks of the Tridentweretheeasiestwaytomovegoods or men across theriverlands. In timesofpeace,theywouldhaveencounteredfisherfolkintheirskiffs,grainbarges being poleddownstream, merchantsselling needles and bolts ofcloth from floating shops,

perhaps even a gaily paintedmummers boat with quiltedsailsofhalfahundredcolors,making its way upriver fromvillagetovillageandcastletocastle.

But the war had taken itstoll.Theysailedpastvillages,but saw no villagers. Anempty net, slashed and tornandhangingfromsometrees,was the only sign of

fisherfolk. A young girlwateringherhorserodeoffassoon as she glimpsed theirsail. Later they passed adozen peasants digging in afield beneath the shell of aburnt towerhouse. The mengazedatthemwithdulleyes,andwentback to their laborsonce they decided the skiffwasnothreat.

The Red Fork was wide

andslow,ameandering riverof loops and bends dottedwith tiny wooded islets andfrequently choked bysandbars and snags thatlurked justbelow thewaterssurface. Brienne seemed tohave a keen eye for thedangers, though, and alwaysseemed to find the channel.When Jaime complimentedher on her knowledge of theriver, she looked at him

suspiciously and said, I donot know the river. Tarth isanisland.IlearnedtomanageoarsandsailbeforeIeversatahorse.

Ser Cleos sat up andrubbedathiseyes.Gods,myarmsaresore.Ihopethewindlasts. He sniffed at it. Ismellrain.

Jaime would welcome a

good rain. The dungeons ofRiverrun were not thecleanest place in the SevenKingdoms. By now he mustsmelllikeanoverripecheese.

Cleos squinted downriver.Smoke.

Athingreyfingercrookedthem on. It was rising fromthe south bank several mileson, twisting and curling.

Below, Jaime made out thesmouldering remains of alargebuilding,andaliveoakfullofdeadwomen.

The crows had scarcelystarted on their corpses. Thethinropescutdeeplyintothesoftfleshoftheirthroats,andwhen the wind blew theytwisted and swayed. Thiswas not chivalrously done,saidBriennewhen theywere

closeenoughtoseeitclearly.No true knight wouldcondone such wantonbutchery.

True knights see worseevery time they ride to war,wench,saidJaime.Anddoworse,yes.

Brienne turned the ruddertoward the shore. Ill leaveno innocents to be food for

crows.

Aheartlesswench.Crowsneed to eat as well. Stay tothe river and leave the deadalone,woman.

They landed upstream ofwhere the great oak leanedout over the water. AsBrienne lowered the sail,Jaimeclimbedout,clumsyinhis chains. The Red Fork

filled his boots and soakedthrough the ragged breeches.Laughing, he dropped to hisknees,plungedhisheadunderthe water, and came updrenched and dripping. Hishands were caked with dirt,and when he rubbed themclean in the current theyseemedthinnerandpalerthanhe remembered. His legswere stiff as well, andunsteady when he put his

weight upon them. I was toobloodylonginHosterTullysdungeon.

BrienneandCleosdraggedthe skiff onto the bank. Thecorpses hung above theirheads, ripening in death likefoul fruit. One of us willneed to cut them down, thewenchsaid.

Ill climb. Jaime waded

ashore, clanking. Just getthesechainsoff.

The wenchwas staring upat one of the dead women.Jaime shuffled closer withsmall stutter steps, the onlykind the foot-long chainpermitted. When he saw thecrude sign hung about theneckofthehighestcorpse,hesmiled. They Lay WithLions, he read. Oh, yes,

woman, this was mostunchivalrously done . . . butby your side, not mine. Iwonderwho theywere, thesewomen?

Tavern wenches, saidSerCleosFrey.Thiswasaninn,Irememberitnow.Somemen of my escort spent thenight here when we lastreturned to Riverrun.Nothing remained of the

building but the stonefoundation and a tangle ofcollapsed beams, charredblack. Smoke still rose fromtheashes.

Jaime left brothels andwhorestohisbrotherTyrion;Cersei was the only womanhe had ever wanted. Thegirls pleasured some of mylordfatherssoldiers,itwouldseem. Perhaps served them

food and drink. Thats howthey earned their traitorscollars,withakissandacupof ale. He glanced up anddown the river, to makecertaintheywerequitealone.This is Bracken land. LordJonos might have orderedthemkilled.Myfatherburnedhis castle, I fear he loves usnot.

It might be Marq Pipers

work, said Ser Cleos. Orthat wisp o the wood BericDondarrion, thoughIdheardhekillsonlysoldiers.Perhapsa band of Roose Boltonsnorthmen?

Bolton was defeated bymy father on the GreenFork.

But not broken, saidSerCleos. He came south again

when Lord Tywin marchedagainstthefords.ThewordatRiverrunwas that hed takenHarrenhal from Ser AmoryLorch.

Jaime liked the sound ofthat not at all. Brienne, hesaid,grantingherthecourtesyof thenameinthehopesthatshe might listen, if LordBolton holdsHarrenhal, boththeTridentandthekingsroad

arelikelywatched.

Hethoughthesawatouchofuncertaintyinherbigblueeyes. You are under myprotection. Theyd need tokillme.

I shouldnt think thatwouldtroublethem.

I am as good a fighter asyou,shesaiddefensively.I

was one of King Renlyschosen seven. With his ownhands, he cloaked me withthe striped silk of theRainbowGuard.

TheRainbowGuard?Youandsixothergirls,was it?Asingeroncesaidthatallmaidsare fair in silk . . . but henevermetyou,didhe?

The woman turned red.

Wehavegravestodig.Shewenttoclimbthetree.

Thelowerlimbsoftheoakwere big enough for her tostandupononceshedgottenup the trunk. She walkedamongsttheleaves,daggerinhand, cutting down thecorpses. Flies swarmedaroundthebodiesastheyfell,and the stench grew worsewith each one she dropped.

This is a deal of trouble totake for whores, Ser Cleoscomplained. What are wesupposed to dig with? Wehavenospades,andIwillnotusemysword,I

Brienne gave a shout. Shejumped down rather thanclimbing. To the boat. Bequick.Theresasail.

Theymadewhathastethey

could, though Jaime couldhardly run, and had to bepulled back up into the skiffbyhiscousin.Brienneshovedoffwithanoarandraisedsailhurriedly. Ser Cleos, Illneedyoutorowaswell.

Hedidasshebid.Theskiffbegan to cut the water a bitfaster;current,wind,andoarsall worked for them. Jaimesat chained, peering upriver.

Only the topof theothersailwasvisible.WiththewaytheRedForklooped,itlookedtobe across the fields, movingnorthbehindascreenoftreeswhile they moved south, buthe knew that was deceptive.Heliftedbothhandstoshadehis eyes. Mud red andwateryblue,heannounced.

Briennes big mouthworked soundlessly, giving

her the look of a cowchewingitscud.Faster,ser.

The inn soon vanishedbehind them, and they lostsightof the topof the sail aswell, but thatmeant nothing.Once the pursuers swungaround the loop they wouldbecome visible again. Wecan hope the noble Tullyswill stop to bury the deadwhores, I suppose. The

prospect of returning to hiscell did not appeal to Jaime.Tyrion could think ofsomethingclevernow,butallthat occurs tome is to go atthemwithasword.

For the good part of anhour they played peek-and-seek with the pursuers,sweeping around bends andbetween small wooded isles.Just when they were starting

to hope that somehow theymight have left behind thepursuit, the distant sailbecame visible again. SerCleos paused in his stroke.The Others take them. Hewipedsweatfromhisbrow.

Row!Briennesaid.

That is a river galleycoming after us, Jaimeannouncedafterhedwatched

for a while. With everystroke, it seemed to grow alittle larger. Nine oars oneach side, which meanseighteen men. More, if theycrowded on fighters as wellas rowers. And larger sailsthan ours.We cannot outrunher.

SerCleosfrozeathisoars.Eighteen,yousaid?

Six for each of us. Idwanteight,butthesebraceletshinderme somewhat. Jaimeheld up his wrists. UnlesstheLadyBriennewouldbesokindastounshackleme?

She ignored him, puttingallhereffortintoherstroke.

Wehadhalfanightsstarton them, Jaime said.Theyve been rowing since

dawn, resting two oars at atime. Theyll be exhausted.Justnowthesightofoursailhas given them a burst ofstrength,butthatwillnotlast.Weought tobeable tokillagoodmanyofthem.

SerCleosgaped. But . . .thereareeighteen.

At the least. More likelytwentyortwenty-five.

His cousin groaned. Wecant hope to defeateighteen.

Did I say we could? Thebestwecanhopeforistodiewith swords in our hands.He was perfectly sincere.Jaime Lannister had neverbeenafraidofdeath.

Brienne broke off rowing.Sweat had stuck strands of

her flax-colored hair to herforehead, and her grimacemade her look homelier thanever. You are under myprotection, she said, hervoicesothickwithangerthatitwasalmostagrowl.

He had to laugh at suchfierceness. Shes the Houndwith teats, he thought. Orwouldbe,ifshehadanyteatstospeakof.Thenprotectme,

wench.Or freeme toprotectmyself.

The galley was skimmingdownriver, a great woodendragonfly. The water aroundherwaschurnedwhitebythefuriousactionofheroars.Shewas gaining visibly, themenon her deck crowdingforward as she came on.Metal glinted in their hands,and Jaimecould seebowsas

well. Archers. He hatedarchers.

At the prow of theonrushing galley stood astockymanwithabaldhead,bushy grey eyebrows, andbrawny arms. Over his mailhe wore a soiled whitesurcoat with a weepingwillow embroidered in palegreen, but his cloak wasfastened with a silver trout.

Riverrunscaptainofguards.In his day Ser Robin Rygerhad been a notably tenaciousfighter,buthisdaywasdone;hewasofanagewithHosterTully, and had grown oldwithhislord.

When the boats were fiftyyardsapart,Jaimecuppedhishands around his mouth andshouted back over thewater.Come towishmegodspeed,

SerRobin?

Come to take you back,Kingslayer,SerRobinRygerbellowed. How is it thatyouve lost your goldenhair?

I hope to blind myenemieswiththesheenoffmyhead.Itsworkedwellenoughforyou.

Ser Robin was unamused.The distance between skiffandgalleyhadshrunktofortyyards.Throw your oars andyour weapons into the river,andnooneneedbeharmed.

Ser Cleos twisted around.Jaime, tell him we werefreedbyLadyCatelyn...anexchangeofcaptives,lawful...

Jaime told him, for all thegood it did. Catelyn Starkdoes not rule in Riverrun,SerRobinshoutedback.Fourarcherscrowdedintopositionon either side of him, twostanding and two kneeling.Cast your swords into thewater.

I have no sword, hereturned, but if I did, Idstickitthroughyourbellyand

hack the balls off those fourcravens.

A flight of arrowsanswered him. One thuddedintothemast,twopiercedthesail, and the fourth missedJaimebyafoot.

Another of theRedForksbroad loops loomed beforethem. Brienne angled theskiff across the bend. The

yard swung as they turned,their sail cracking as it filledwith wind. Ahead a largeisland sat in midstream. Themain channel flowed right.To the left a cutoff ranbetween the island and thehighbluffsofthenorthshore.Briennemoved the tiller andthe skiff sheared left, sailrippling. Jaime watched hereyes.Prettyeyes,he thought,and calm. He knew how to

read a mans eyes. He knewwhat fear looked like.She isdetermined,notdesperate.

Thirty yards behind, thegalleywasentering thebend.Ser Cleos, take the tiller,the wench commanded.Kingslayer, take an oar andkeepusofftherocks.

As my lady commands.An oarwas not a sword, but

thebladecouldbreakamansface if well swung, and theshaftcouldbeusedtoparry.

Ser Cleos shoved the oarinto Jaimes hand andscrambled aft. They crossedthe head of the island andturned sharply down thecutoff, sending a wash ofwater against the face of thebluff as the boat tilted. Theislandwasdenselywooded,a

tangle of willows, oaks, andtall pines that cast deepshadows across the rushingwater, hiding snags and therotted trunks of drownedtrees. To their left the bluffrose sheer and rocky, and atits foot the river foamedwhitely around brokenbouldersand tumblesof rockfallenfromthecliffface.

They passed from sunlight

intoshadow,hiddenfromthegalleys view between thegreenwallofthetreesandthestonygrey-brownbluff.Afewmoments respite from thearrows, Jaime thought,pushing them off a half-submergedboulder.

Theskiffrocked.Hehearda soft splash, and when heglanced around, Briennewasgone. A moment later he

spied her again, pullingherself from the water at thebase of the bluff. Shewadedthrough a shallow pool,scrambled over some rocks,andbegantoclimb.SerCleosgoggled, mouth open. Fool,thought Jaime. Ignore thewench, he snapped at hiscousin.Steer.

They could see the sailmovingbehind the trees.The

river galley came into fullviewat the topof thecutoff,twenty-fiveyardsbehind.Herbowswunghardasshecamearound, and a half-dozenarrows took flight, but allwent well wide. The motionof the two boats was givingthe archers difficulty, butJaime knew theyd soonenough learn to compensate.Brienne was halfway up thecliffface,pullingherselffrom

handhold to handhold.Rygers sure to see her, andoncehedoeshellhavethosebowmen bring her down.Jaime decided to see if theoldmans pride wouldmakehim stupid. Ser Robin, heshouted, hear me for amoment.

Ser Robin raised a hand,and his archers lowered theirbows. Say what you will,

Kingslayer, but say itquickly.

The skiff swung through alitter of broken stones asJaime called out, I know abetter way to settle thissinglecombat.YouandI.

I was not born thismorning,Lannister.

No, but youre like to die

this afternoon. Jaime raisedhis hands so the other couldsee the manacles. Ill fightyou in chains. What couldyoufear?

Notyou,ser.Ifthechoicewere mine, Id like nothingbetter, but I am commandedto bring you back alive ifpossible. Bowmen. Hesignaled them on. Notch.Draw.Loo

The range was less thantwenty yards. The archerscould scarcely have missed,but as they pulled on theirlongbows a rain of pebblescascaded down around them.Small stones rattled on theirdeck, bounced off theirhelms, andmade splashesonboth sidesof thebow.Thosewho had wits enough tounderstand raised their eyesjustasaboulderthesizeofa

cow detached itself from thetop of the bluff. Ser Robinshouted indismay.Thestonetumbled through the air,struck the face of the cliff,cracked in two, and smasheddown on them. The largerpiece snapped the mast, torethrough the sail, sent two ofthe archers flying into theriver,andcrushedthelegofarowerashebentoverhisoar.The rapidity with which the

galleybegantofillwithwatersuggested that the smallerfragment had punched rightthrough her hull. Theoarsmansscreamsechoedoffthe bluff while the archersflailed wildly in the current.From the way they weresplashing, neither man couldswim.Jaimelaughed.

By the time they emergedfrom the cutoff, the galley

was foundering amongstpools, eddies, and snags, andJaime Lannister had decidedthat the godswere good. SerRobin and his thrice-damnedarchers would have a longwet walk back to Riverrun,and he was rid of the bighomely wench as well. Icould not have planned itbetter myself. Once Im freeoftheseirons...

Ser Cleos raised a shout.When Jaime looked up,Briennewas lumberingalongthe clifftop well ahead ofthem, having cut across afingeroflandwhiletheywerefollowing the bend in theriver. She threw herself offthe rock, and looked almostgraceful as she folded into adive. It would have beenungracious to hope that shewould smash her head on a

stone. Ser Cleos turned theskiff toward her. Thankfully,Jaime still had his oar. Onegood swing when she comespaddlingupandIllbefreeofher.

Instead he found himselfstretchingtheoaroutoverthewater. Brienne grabbed hold,and Jaime pulled her in. Ashe helped her into the skiff,water ran from her hair and

dripped from her soddenclothing to pool on the deck.Shes even uglier wet. Whowould have thought itpossible? Youre a bloodystupid wench, he told her.We could have sailed onwithout you. I suppose youexpectmetothankyou?

I want none of yourthanks, Kingslayer. I sworean oath to bring you safe to

KingsLanding.

Andyouactuallymeantokeep it? Jaime gave her hisbrightestsmile.Nowtheresawonder.

CATELYN

Ser Desmond Grell had

served House Tully all hislife. He had been a squirewhen Catelyn was born, aknight when she learned towalk and ride and swim,master-at-arms by the daythat she was wed. He hadseen Lord Hosters little Catbecome a young woman, agreat lords lady,mother toaking.Andnowhehasseenmebecomeatraitoraswell.

Her brother Edmure hadnamedSerDesmondcastellanofRiverrunwhenherodeoffto battle, so it fell to him todealwith her crime. To easehisdiscomforthebroughtherfathers steward with him,dour Utherydes Wayn. Thetwomenstoodand lookedather; SerDesmond stout, red-faced, embarrassed,Utherydes grave, gaunt,melancholy. Each waited for

theothertospeak.Theyhavegiven their lives to myfathers service, and I haverepaid them with disgrace,Catelynthoughtwearily.

Yoursons,SerDesmondsaid at last. MaesterVymantold us. The poor lads.Terrible.Terrible.But...

We share your grief, mylady, said UtherydesWayn.

All Riverrun mourns withyou,but...

The news must havedriven you mad, SerDesmond broke in, amadness of grief, amothersmadness, men willunderstand. You did notknow...

I did, Catelyn saidfirmly. I understood what I

was doing and knew it wastreasonous. If you fail topunish me, men will believethat we connived together tofree Jaime Lannister. It wasmineownactandminealone,and I alone must answer forit.PutmeintheKingslayersempty irons, and I will wearthemproudly,ifthatishowitmustbe.

Fetters? The very word

seemed to shock poor SerDesmond. For the kingsmother, my lords owndaughter?Impossible.

Mayhaps, said thesteward Utherydes Wayn,myladywouldconsenttobeconfined to her chambersuntil Ser Edmure returns. Atime alone, to pray for hermurderedsons?

Confined, aye, SerDesmondsaid.Confinedtoatowercell,thatwouldserve.

IfIamtobeconfined,letitbeinmyfatherschambers,soImightcomforthiminhislastdays.

SerDesmond considered amoment. Very well. Youshall lack no comfort norcourtesy, but freedom of the

castleisdeniedyou.Visittheseptasyouneed,butelsewiseremain in Lord Hosterschambers until Lord Edmurereturns.

Asyouwish.Herbrotherwasnolordwhiletheirfatherlived, but Catelyn did notcorrect him. Set a guard onme if you must, but I giveyou my pledge that I shallattemptnoescape.

Ser Desmond nodded,plainly glad to be done withhis distasteful task, but sad-eyed Utherydes Waynlingered a moment after thecastellan took his leave. Itwasagravethingyoudid,mylady, but for naught. SerDesmondhas sentSerRobinRyger after them, to bringback the Kingslayer . . . orfailingthat,hishead.

Catelyn had expected noless. May the Warrior givestrength to your sword arm,Brienne, sheprayed.Shehaddone all she could; nothingremainedbuttohope.

Her things were movedintoher fathersbedchamber,dominated by the greatcanopied bed she had beenborn in, its pillars carved inthe shapes of leaping trout.

Her father himself had beenmoved half a turn down thestair, his sickbed placed toface the triangular balconythat opened off his solar,fromwhencehecouldseetherivers that he had alwayslovedsowell.

Lord Hoster was sleepingwhen Catelyn entered. Shewent out to the balcony andstood with one hand on the

rough stone balustrade.Beyondthepointofthecastlethe swiftTumblestone joinedthe placidRedFork, and shecould see a long waydownriver. If a striped sailcomesfromtheeast,itwillbeSer Robin returning. For themoment the surface of thewaters was empty. Shethankedthegodsforthat,andwent back inside to sit withherfather.

Catelyn could not say ifLord Hoster knew that shewas there, or if her presencebroughthimanycomfort,butit gave her solace to bewithhim.What would you say ifyou knewmy crime, Father?she wondered. Would youhavedoneas Idid, if itwereLysa andme in the hands ofour enemies? Or would youcondemn me too, and call itmothersmadness?

Therewasasmellofdeathabout that room; a heavysmell, sweet and foul,clinging. It reminded her ofthesonsthatshehadlost,hersweet Bran and her littleRickon, slain at the hand ofTheon Greyjoy, who hadbeen Neds ward. She stillgrieved for Ned, she wouldalwaysgrieveforNed,buttohaveherbabiestakenaswell. . . It is a monstrous cruel

thing to lose a child, shewhispered softly, more toherselfthantoherfather.

LordHosterseyesopened.Tansy,hehuskedinavoicethickwithpain.

He does not know me.Catelyn had grownaccustomedtohimtakingherfor her mother or her sisterLysa, but Tansywas a name

strangetoher.ItsCatelyn,shesaid.ItsCat,Father.

Forgiveme...theblood...oh,please...Tansy...

Could there have beenanotherwomaninherfatherslife?Somevillagemaidenhehad wronged when he wasyoung, perhaps? Could hehave found comfort in someserving wenchs arms after

Mother died? It was a queerthought, unsettling. Suddenlyshefeltasthoughshehadnotknownherfatheratall.Whois Tansy, my lord? Do youwant me to send for her,Father? Where would I findthe woman? Does she stilllive?

Lord Hoster groaned.Dead.His handgroped forhers.Youllhaveothers . . .

sweetbabes,andtrueborn.

Others? Catelyn thought.Has he forgotten that Ned isgone? Is he still talking toTansy, or is it me now, orLysa,orMother?

When he coughed, thesputum came up bloody. Heclutchedherfingers....beagood wife and the gods willbless you . . . sons . . .

trueborn sons . . . aaahhh.The sudden spasm of painmade Lord Hosters handtighten.Hisnailsdugintoherhand, and he gave amuffledscream.

Maester Vyman camequickly, tomix another doseofmilkofthepoppyandhelphis lord swallow it down.Soon enough, Lord HosterTully had fallen back into a

heavysleep.

He was asking after awoman,saidCat.Tansy.

Tansy? The maesterlookedatherblankly.

Youknownooneby thatname? A serving girl, awoman from some nearbyvillage? Perhaps someonefrom years past? Catelyn

hadbeengonefromRiverrunforaverylongtime.

No,my lady. I canmakeinquiries, if you like.Utherydes Wayn wouldsurely know if any suchperson ever served atRiverrun.Tansy,didyousay?The smallfolk often nametheir daughters after flowersand herbs. The maesterlooked thoughtful. There

was a widow, I recall, sheused to come to the castlelookingforoldshoesinneedof new soles. Her name wasTansy,nowthatIthinkonit.OrwasitPansy?Somesuch.But she has not come formanyyears...

Her name was Violet,said Catelyn, whoremembered the old womanverywell.

Was it? The maesterlooked apologetic. Mypardons, Lady Catelyn, but Imay not stay. Ser Desmondhas decreed that we are tospeak to you only so far asourdutiesrequire.

Then you must do as hecommands. Catelyn couldnot blame SerDesmond; shehadgivenhimsmallreasontotrust her, and no doubt he

feared that shemightuse theloyalty thatmanyof the folkof Riverrun would still feeltoward their lords daughterto work some furthermischief. I am free of thewar,atleast,shetoldherself,ifonlyforalittlewhile.

Afterthemaesterhadgone,she donned a woolen cloakand stepped out onto thebalcony once more. Sunlight

shimmered on the rivers,gilding the surface of thewatersas theyrolledpast thecastle. Catelyn shaded hereyes against the glare,searching for a distant sail,dreadingthesightofone.Butthere was nothing, andnothingmeant thatherhopeswerestillalive.

All that day she watched,andwell into the night, until

her legs ached from thestanding.Aravencametothecastle in late afternoon,flappingdownongreatblackwings to the rookery. Darkwings, dark words, shethought,rememberingthelastbird that had come and thehorrorithadbrought.

MaesterVymanreturnedatevenfall to minister to LordTully and bring Catelyn a

modest supper of bread,cheese, and boiled beef withhorseradish. I spoke toUtherydes Wayn, my lady.He is quite certain that nowomanbythenameofTansyhas ever been at Riverrunduringhisservice.

Therewasaraventoday,Isaw. Has Jaime been takenagain? Or slain, godsforbid?

No, my lady, weve hadnowordoftheKingslayer.

Is it another battle, then?Is Edmure in difficulty? OrRobb? Please, be kind, putmyfearsatrest.

Mylady,Ishouldnot...Vymanglancedabout,asiftomakecertainnooneelsewasintheroom.LordTywinhaslefttheriverlands.Allsquiet

onthefords.

Whence came the raven,then?

From the west, heanswered, busying himselfwith Lord Hostersbedclothes and avoiding hereyes.

WasitnewsofRobb?

He hesitated. Yes, my

lady.

Somethingiswrong.Sheknew it fromhismanner.Hewas hiding something fromher. Tellme. Is it Robb? Ishe hurt?Not dead, gods begood, please do not tell methatheisdead.

His Grace took a woundstorming the Crag, MaesterVyman said, still evasive,

butwritesthatitisnocauseforconcern,andthathehopestoreturnsoon.

A wound? What sort ofwound?Howserious?

No cause for concern, hewrites.

All wounds concern me.Ishebeingcaredfor?

I am certain of it. The

maesterat theCragwill tendtohim,Ihavenodoubt.

Wherewashewounded?

My lady, I amcommandednottospeakwithyou. I am sorry. Gatheringup his potions,Vymanmadeahurriedexit,andonceagainCatelyn was left alone withher father. The milk of thepoppyhaddoneitswork,and

Lord Hoster was sunk inheavy sleep. A thin line ofspittle ran down from onecorner of his open mouth todampen his pillow. Catelyntook a square of linen andwiped it away gently. Whenshetouchedhim,LordHostermoaned. Forgive me, hesaid, so softly she couldscarcely hear the words.Tansy . . . blood . . . theblood...godsbekind...

His words disturbed hermore than she could say,though she could make nosense of them. Blood, shethought. Must it all comeback to blood? Father, whowas this woman, and whatdid you do to her that needssomuchforgiveness?

That night Catelyn sleptfitfully, haunted by formlessdreams of her children, the

lostandthedead.Wellbeforethe break of day, she wokewith her fathers wordsechoing in her ears. Sweetbabes,and trueborn . . .whywouldhesaythat,unless. . .could he have fathered abastard on this womanTansy?Shecouldnotbelieveit.HerbrotherEdmure,yes;itwouldnothave surprisedherto learn that Edmure had adozen natural children. But

not her father, not LordHosterTully,never.

Could Tansy be some petnamehecalledLysa,thewayhe called me Cat? LordHoster had mistaken her forher sister before.Youll haveothers, he said. Sweet babes,and trueborn. Lysa hadmiscarried five times, twicein theEyrie, thrice atKingsLanding . . . but never at

Riverrun,where LordHosterwould have been at hand tocomforther.Never,unless...unless she was with child,thatfirsttime...

Sheandhersisterhadbeenmarriedonthesameday,andleftintheirfatherscarewhentheir new husbands hadridden off to rejoin Robertsrebellion. Afterward, whentheir moon blood did not

comeattheaccustomedtime,Lysa had gushed happily ofthesonsshewascertain theycarried. Your son will beheirtoWinterfellandminetothe Eyrie. Oh, theyll be thebestoffriends,likeyourNedand Lord Robert. Theyll bemore brothers than cousins,truly,Ijustknowit.Shewassohappy.

ButLysasbloodhadcome

notlongafter,andallthejoyhad gone out of her.CatelynhadalwaysthoughtthatLysahad simply been a little late,butifshehadbeenwithchild...

She remembered the firsttimeshegavehersisterRobbtohold;small,red-faced,andsqualling, but strong eventhen, full of life. No soonerhad Catelyn placed the babe

in her sisters arms thanLysas face dissolved intotears.HurriedlyshehadthrustthebabybackatCatelynandfled.

If she had lost a childbefore, that might explainFathers words, and muchelsebesides...Lysasmatchwith Lord Arryn had beenhastilyarranged,andJonwasan old man even then, older

than their father.Anoldmanwithoutanheir.His first twowives had left him childless,his brothers son had beenmurderedwithBrandonStarkinKingsLanding,hisgallantcousin had died in theBattleof the Bells. He needed ayoung wife if House Arrynwas to continue . . .ayoungwifeknowntobefertile.

Catelyn rose, threw on a

robe,anddescendedthestepstothedarkenedsolartostandover her father. A sense ofhelpless dread filled her.Father, she said, Father, Iknowwhatyoudid.Shewasno longer an innocent bridewith a head full of dreams.Shewasawidow,a traitor,agrieving mother, and wise,wiseinthewaysoftheworld.You made him take her,shewhispered.Lysawasthe

price Jon Arryn had to payfor the swords and spears ofHouseTully.

Small wonder her sistersmarriage had been soloveless. The Arryns wereproud, and prickly of theirhonor. Lord Jon might wedLysatobindtheTullystothecauseof the rebellion,and inhopes of a son, but it wouldhave been hard for him to

love a woman who came tohis bed soiled and unwilling.Hewouldhavebeenkind,nodoubt; dutiful, yes; but Lysaneededwarmth.

Thenextday,asshebrokeher fast, Catelyn asked forquill and paper and began alettertohersisterintheValeof Arryn. She told Lysa ofBran and Rickon, strugglingwith the words, but mostly

shewroteof their father.Histhoughtsareallof thewronghedidyou,nowthathis timegrows short. Maester Vymansays he dare not make themilk of the poppy anystronger.ItistimeforFatherto lay down his sword andshield. It is time for him torest. Yet he fights on grimly,will not yield. It is for yoursake, I think. He needs yourforgiveness. The war has

madetheroadfromtheEyrieto Riverrun dangerous totravel, I know, but surely astrong force of knights couldsee you safely through theMountains of the Moon? Ahundredmen,orathousand?And if you cannot come,willyounotwritehimat least?Afew words of love, so hemight die in peace? Writewhat you will, and I shallread it to him, and ease his

way.

Even as she set the quillaside and asked for sealingwax, Catelyn sensed that theletterwas like tobe too littleand too late.MaesterVymandid not believe Lord HosterwouldlingerlongenoughforaraventoreachtheEyrieandreturn. Though he has saidmuch the same before . . .Tully men did not surrender

easily, no matter the odds.After she entrusted theparchment to the maesterscare,Catelynwenttotheseptand lit a candle to theFatherAbove for her own fatherssake, a second to the Crone,who had let the first raveninto the world when shepeered through the door ofdeath, and a third to theMother, for Lysa and all thechildrentheyhadbothlost.

Laterthatday,asshesatatLordHostersbedsidewithabook, reading the samepassage over and over, sheheard the sound of loudvoices and a trumpets blare.Ser Robin, she thought atonce, flinching. She went tothe balcony, but there wasnothingtobeseenoutontherivers,but shecouldhear thevoices more clearly fromoutside, the sound of many

horses, the clink of armor,and here and there a cheer.Catelynmadeherwayupthewinding stairs to the roof ofthe keep. Ser Desmond didnot forbid me the roof, shetoldherselfassheclimbed.

The sounds were comingfromthefarsideofthecastle,by the main gate. A knot ofmen stood before theportcullis as it rose in jerks

and starts, and in the fieldsbeyond, outside the castle,were several hundred riders.Whenthewindblew,itliftedtheir banners, and shetrembled in reliefat thesightof the leaping trout ofRiverrun.Edmure.

Itwastwohoursbeforehesaw fit to come to her. Bythen the castle rang to thesound of noisy reunions as

men embraced the womenand children they had leftbehind. Three ravens hadrisen from the rookery,blackwings beating at the air asthey took flight. Catelynwatched them from herfathers balcony. She hadwashedherhair,changedherclothing,andpreparedherselfforherbrothers reproaches .. . but even so, the waitingwashard.

When at last she heardsounds outside her door, shesat and folded her hands inher lap. Dried red mudspattered Edmures boots,greaves,andsurcoat.Tolookat him, you would neverknow he had won his battle.Hewas thin anddrawn,withpale cheeks, unkempt beard,andtoo-brighteyes.

Edmure, Catelyn said,

worried, you look unwell.Has something happened?Have the Lannisters crossedtheriver?

I threw them back. LordTywin, Gregor Clegane,Addam Marbrand, I turnedthemaway.Stannis,though...Hegrimaced.

Stannis? What ofStannis?

He lost the battle atKings Landing, Edmuresaidunhappily.Hisfleetwasburned,hisarmyrouted.

ALannistervictorywasilltidings,butCatelyncouldnotshare her brothers obviousdismay. She still hadnightmares about the shadowshe had seen slide acrossRenlys tent and theway theblood had come flowing out

through the steel of hisgorget.StanniswasnomoreafriendthanLordTywin.

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