The North, Winterfell.
The King's party had finally arrived.
The vast procession had marched north from the Neck, crossing half the North, and now reached its destination at last.
The stag banners of House Baratheon and the golden lion banners of House Lannister fluttered side by side in the cold wind, a subtle and delicate balance.
Eddard Stark and his entire family waited at the city gate to welco them.
Two old friends who had not seen each other in many years could not help but smile when they t. Robert swung down from his horse, strode forward, and gave Ned a hearty embrace.
"Ned!" Robert slapped his back hard. "After all these years, you still have that sa sour, long-suffering face!"
For once, a rare smile softened Eddard's habitually solemn and lancholy features. "Your Grace, the journey must have been hard."
Robert laughed loudly. "Hard? If those lions hadn't been tagging along, I would have ridden here myself. That damned wheelhouse crawled like a tortoise!"
Behind him, Queen Cersei Lannister stepped down from the carriage, a polite smile fixed on her face, yet her eyes were as cold as Northern snow.
Her gaze swept over the Stark family, lingered briefly on Catelyn, then moved to the children.
Finally, her eyes t Jai Lannister's.
The white-cloaked Kingsguard stood among the party, a faint smile on his handso face. Their gazes touched for a single instant before both looked away.
No one noticed that fleeting mont.
Robert was still chatting with Eddard. He looked around, his eyes passing over the crowd and settling on a small hill in the distance.
The direction of the crypts.
"Ned," his voice suddenly grew heavy, "I want to visit Lyanna."
The air seed to freeze for a heartbeat.
Eddard's expression remained unchanged. He simply nodded. "I will go with you."
Cersei's face changed.
For one instant, the polite smile she wore nearly cracked.
Lyanna. Lyanna Stark… that woman who had been dead for more than ten years, the woman Robert could never forget, the woman who had turned her marriage into a joke.
And now her husband, the King, wanted to visit that woman's tomb the very mont he arrived at Winterfell.
Cersei took a deep breath and turned away.
Her handmaiden hurried after her and asked softly, "Your Grace, where are you going?"
Cersei did not answer.
Where was she going?
She was going to Jai, so that Jai could fuck her hard!
Robert stood before Lyanna's tomb for a long ti, silent.
The simple stone sepulcher was plain, almost too humble for the daughter of a lord. The na on the tombstone read: Lyanna Stark.
"She should have lived," Robert murmured. "She should have been my queen. She should have given a dozen children. She should have…"
He did not finish.
Eddard stood beside him, silent.
After a long while Robert turned, looking at his old friend.
"Ned, I need you."
Eddard looked up.
"Co south. Be my Hand."
Robert stared into his eyes. "Jon is dead. I need soone I can trust to deal with all the shit."
Eddard frowned. "Robert, I…"
"Don't refuse yet," Robert cut him off. "I know you hate the South, hate the court, hate all the scheming. I hate it too. But Ned, you are the only man I can trust."
His voice grew low and bitter.
"Look at King's Landing now. Lannisters everywhere. Tywin that old fox is watching the Iron Throne from Casterly Rock. Cersei and her brother the Kingslayer… Hmph. I need an honest man, soone who won't sell his soul for power, soone who can help keep my arse on that damned chair."
He took a step closer, staring hard into Eddard's eyes.
"Eddard Stark, you helped win that fucking Iron Throne. Now you must help keep it. Do you want to see the Lannisters control the realm? Do you want to see Robert Baratheon beco a puppet king?"
Eddard was silent for a long ti.
Finally, he slowly nodded.
Winterfell, inside a certain brothel.
Jai Lannister pushed open a door and walked in.
In the room, Tyrion Lannister lay on a large soft bed, surrounded by several half-dressed Northern won. He held a cup of wine, a satisfied smile on his face.
When the door opened, he looked up. Seeing Jai, his smile turned into disgust.
Tyrion deliberately put on a stern face and asked, "My dear brother, do I need to explain to you what it ans when a brothel is closed?"
Jai raised an eyebrow and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"No doubt I have much to learn from you. However, our sister requires your attention. The Starks are hosting a welcoming feast at sunset, and you are expected to attend."
Tyrion rolled his eyes.
"A feast?"
He gestured at the won around him. "My feast has already begun, and this is only the appetizer."
Jai gave him a look that said I knew you'd say that.
He clapped his hands.
The door opened again and several more bare-breasted Northern girls filed in. They laughed as they pounced onto the bed, instantly burying the Imp beneath a pile of won.
Tyrion's muffled protests ca from within the tangle of limbs.
Jai stood up, walked to the door, and looked back.
"See you at sunset."
He closed the door.
At the sa ti, across the Narrow Sea, Pentos.
Viserys Targaryen walked into his sister's room with a delighted expression, holding an exquisite silk gown.
He called out, "Dear sister, look what I brought for you!"
Daenerys Targaryen turned from the window. Her silver hair fell over her shoulders, her violet eyes filled with innocence and confusion.
She was still too young to understand the manic fervor in her brother's eyes.
Viserys stepped in front of her and handed her the gown.
Daenerys took it without speaking.
Viserys's gaze traveled over her body from head to toe, inspecting her like rchandise. He reached out and unfastened the buttons of her dress, examining her figure.
Daenerys's body stiffened slightly, but she did not resist.
She was used to it.
Viserys nodded in satisfaction. His sister's body had developed enough to tempt any man.
"Go bathe and put on the gown."
He stared into her eyes and spoke word by word: "We are about to et Khal Drogo. Do not make any mistakes. Can you do that for ?"
He paused, his tone turning dangerous.
"You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"
Daenerys slowly nodded.
With the help of her handmaids she stepped into the bath.
The water was scalding hot. One of the maids pulled her hand back in pain. She was about to suggest adding cold water, but when she saw the young mistress sit in the steaming bath without changing expression, the words died in her throat.
Targaryens truly did not fear heat?
In the evening, Khal Drogo arrived.
He rode a tall warhorse, followed by a dozen bloodriders. The Dothraki warriors' braids fluttered in the wind.
Viserys and Daenerys stood at the entrance with Pentoshi magister Illyrio to greet him.
Illyrio stepped forward and spoke in Dothraki: "Allow to present two honored guests: Viserys Targaryen the Third, of the blood of the dragon, rightful king of the Andals and the First n, and his sister, Princess Daenerys."
Khal Drogo's gaze fell on Daenerys.
This was the first ti Daenerys had ever seen a Dothraki. Those rough warriors, their bronze skin, long braids, and savage bearing… her heart trembled.
Viserys leaned close to her ear and whispered, "See the Khal's braid? A Dothraki cuts off his braid to show sha after defeat in battle. Khal Drogo has never lost."
He paused.
"He is a savage, but he is also the greatest warrior. And you will be his khaleesi."
Daenerys's lips moved, but she said nothing.
Khal Drogo looked her up and down with a naked, direct gaze. The look made Daenerys uncomfortable, but she dared not move.
After a long mont the Khal nodded.
He was satisfied.
Viserys's face lit up with wild joy. He turned to Illyrio and whispered, "I give him a khaleesi and he gives an army!"
At that mont, Daenerys suddenly spoke.
"I don't want to be his khaleesi," her voice was soft but clear. "I just want to go ho."
Viserys's smile froze.
He turned to look at his sister, eyes narrowing.
"I also want to go ho."
His voice was gentle, dangerously gentle. "I want to go ho with you, back to King's Landing, back to the Red Keep, back to what is ours. But our ho was taken from us."
He took a step closer.
"Dear sister, tell — how do we go ho?"
Daenerys swallowed. "I don't know."
Viserys reached out and gently brushed her silver hair aside. The gesture was as tender as a loving brother's.
"We go ho with an army. With Khal Drogo's ten thousand warriors, we slaughter our way back to Westeros and take back what belongs to us."
He smiled.
"So you will be his khaleesi, yes?"
Daenerys looked into her brother's eyes. In those violet depths was sothing that frightened her.
Viserys continued, "For the Khal's army, I would let his entire forty-thousand-strong khalasar fuck you if necessary! If it ca to it, I would even let their horses have a turn!"
…
That night, in Winterfell's great hall.
The feast was in full swing. The Stark family had prepared a grand welcoming banquet for the King and his party.
Northern lords wore their finest clothes. Southern guests raised their cups. Wine flowed, laughter rang out.
Robert sat at the high table, drinking heavily and laughing loudly. Beside him sat Eddard; across from them were Catelyn and the children.
Cersei sat beside Robert, a polite smile on her face, but her eyes kept drifting toward Jai.
Jai stood among the crowd, a faint smile on his handso face. His gaze t Cersei's for a mont before sliding away again.
Tyrion the Imp sat in a corner, holding a cup of wine and observing everyone with interest.
He noticed that several Stark children were missing.
The bastard, Jon Snow, had not appeared.
Outside the great hall the cold wind howled.
Jon Snow stood alone in the training yard, sword in hand, repeatedly practicing his cuts.
His breath turned to white mist in the air, sweat sliding down his cheeks.
He did not belong at that feast.
He never would.
Footsteps approached.
Jon stopped and turned.
A middle-aged man in black approached — Chief Ranger of the Night's Watch, Benjen Stark, his uncle.
Beside Benjen stood a stranger dressed in Southern clothes, a roguish smile on his face.
Jon sheathed his sword and smiled. "Uncle Benjen, you're back."
Benjen looked at him, a complicated emotion in his eyes.
"Jon, what are you doing out here?"
"Training," Jon answered shortly.
Benjen was silent for a mont. He knew why the boy had not appeared at the feast.
Lady Catelyn would not allow a bastard to attend.
He sighed. "Jon, I have co back to recruit n. The Night's Watch needs more hands."
Jon's eyes brightened.
"Uncle Benjen, I want to go to the Wall. There is a place for bastards there."
Benjen frowned.
"Jon, you are still too young. The price the Night's Watch demands is heavy — lifelong service, no wife, no lands. Have you thought this through?"
"I have."
Benjen looked at the boy's determined eyes and did not know what to say.
"I will attend the feast first," he said at last. "We can talk afterward."
He turned and walked toward the castle.
The Southerner called Bronn followed him. As he passed Jon, he gave the boy a curious look.
After they left, the training yard fell silent again.
Jon stood where he was, gripping his sword hilt tightly.
"Don't feel like attending the feast?" a voice spoke from the shadows.
Jon turned and saw a short figure step out of the darkness.
Tyrion Lannister the Imp.
Jon frowned. "What are you doing here?"
Tyrion shrugged. "The feast was boring. The Starks are talking about Northern weather, the Lannisters are fake-smiling, and King Robert is drinking himself stupid. I ca out for so air."
He walked over to Jon and looked up at him.
"You don't like feasts either?"
Jon did not answer.
Tyrion smiled. "Bastard, right?"
Jon's face changed.
"Don't look at like that," Tyrion waved his hand. "I'm not here to mock you. I just want to tell you that you don't have to feel bad because of other people's opinions. So what if you're a bastard?"
He paused, his tone turning serious.
"Never forget who you are, because you cannot change it. But you can use it to arm yourself, so no one can hurt you."
Jon stared at him, unconvinced.
"You're not a bastard. How could you understand how I feel?"
Tyrion's expression froze for a mont.
Then he smiled. The smile carried bitterness, self-mockery, and sothing Jon could not read.
"All the dwarfs in the world," he said softly, "are bastards in their father's eyes."
Jon fell silent.
For the first ti he looked at the Imp differently. The man who always smiled and joked had his own pain.
The two stood in silence for a mont.
Tyrion spoke first. "You said you want to join the Night's Watch?"
Jon nodded.
"I've heard of the Night's Watch," Tyrion said thoughtfully. "A band of forgotten n guarding a forgotten wall. It sounds romantic, but in reality…"
He shook his head.
"I think you should go south and have a look," he said.
Jon frowned. "South?"
"Yes, south."
Tyrion looked at him. "I know a very special friend. He is on the south shore of the God's Eye in the Riverlands, building a rather novel army. Many bastards go there to join his family guard so they can give their mothers honor."
He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret.
"He grants the mothers or wives of his soldiers the title of Gaoming Lady. No matter what your mother's status was… even if she was the lowliest whore, even if she is already dead, she can be posthumously honored."
Jon's eyes lit up.
"Truly?"
"I saw it with my own eyes," Tyrion nodded. "The fellow calls himself a Celestial Dragon. His na is Luke Jaqenion. The army he commands is the strangest I have ever seen. Bastards are not looked down upon there — they are judged only by how many enemies they can kill and how much rit they can earn."
Beside them, a voice suddenly cut in.
"Lord Tyrion, long ti no see. I didn't expect to et you in the North."
Tyrion turned, surprised. "Bronn? What are you doing here? No wonder I didn't see you on the south shore of the God's Eye."
Bronn shrugged. "Lord Luke sent to piss on the Wall!"
He looked at Jon Snow and said seriously, "I am Lord Luke's personal guard. At White Ridge Pass we made more than a dozen noble houses piss themselves in terror. Honestly, Lord Luke's army has ridiculously good treatnt…"
Tyrion studied this man called Bronn. For so reason, every ti he t him he felt strangely familiar, as if they had known each other for years. At the sa ti, a hollow feeling rose in Tyrion's chest, as though sothing important had been taken from him.
How strange — it felt as if sothing vital had been stolen.
He shook his head, pushing the feeling aside.
Tyrion began probing to find out why Bronn had co to the North, but Bronn was an old fox and gave nothing away.
In the end, both n turned to Jon Snow. They both suggested the bastard should go south and have a look…
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