Jon came up from the building ground with mud dried to both knees.
The first sill lay square upon the stone pads, and Woods had left two men fitting the next. Wylla had been below since dawn with Elspeth, bent over the plan on a trestle beside the timber. They had settled where the kitchen chests would stand before turning to the upper rooms. Jon had expected Wylla to concern herself with his chamber first; instead she had made him leave more room for the pantry, linen press and sickroom.
Robb had inspected only one thing.
"My pallet," he said as Jon crossed the inner yard. "Woods says there is room beside your bed."
"Woods said no such thing."
"He said the chamber is wide enough."
"That is not the same answer."
Robb considered this distinction while Hallis Mollen brought the hunting horses out. "It still means there is room."
Sansa's question at breakfast—whether the new roof would be up before the next rain—had set Arya worrying over the fate of her wooden horse if she came to visit too soon. Robb cared less for the roof than for the mattress Jon had supposedly promised him and had already begun trying to enlist Wylla in deciding where it would go. Their efforts amused Jon at first. Then he understood what lay beneath them. Robb was making a game of the move, Sansa was already counting the suppers he might miss, and Arya seemed to regard the short road into Winter Town as the beginning of his journey to Dragonstone. Jon had spent years preparing to leave; they had not. The house below the walls was necessary if he meant to learn to keep men, stores, servants and work of his own before an island depended upon him, but he would not let that preparation consume what remained of Winterfell. Dragonstone would take him soon enough. Until then there would be evenings for accounts and training, and others for Robb's rides, Sansa's questions, Arya's invasions of his chamber, and time with Bran as well.
Robb caught him smiling as Hallis tightened Apple's girth. "What?"
"Nothing."
Robb narrowed his eyes. "Then I still get the mattress?"
Jon sighed. "Apparently."
Eddard, passing them on his way from the hall, spared the exchange only a glance before asking whether the sill had remained level after the night's rain.
"It was level when I left," Jon said. "I checked twice."
Rain had washed the inner yard almost black. Boar spears leaned against the armoury wall, their ash shafts taller than Jon and their broad iron heads grey beneath fresh oil. Each blade had a crosspiece below it. Jory Cassel took the weapons one at a time, set the butt against stone and pulled upon the bar with both hands while Hallis checked the waiting horses. At the kennel gate, five hounds flung themselves against the boards. Farlen struck the oak with his knife hilt. "Quiet. You have not even left the kennels."
Barrel barked in his face. Theon called that a persuasive answer; Robb shoved a fox-fur cap out of his eyes and claimed the dog said he smelled of seal. Theon told him to ask the dog rather than inventing answers for it. Farlen ignored them. With the butt of a spear he drew Sentinel Ridge in the mud. A hooked root became Grey Shelf; three pebbles marked the north run, the eastern rise and the place where the horses would wait.
"He was here three days ago," Farlen said. "The beaters will come round the north, towards Jory's spears. If he breaks east, let him run."
Jory sounded the horn calls once for the men: a long note to begin, two short to break, three for the spears. Farlen sent the six townsmen to collect red rags from Hallis.
Hullen had chosen steady older horses for the boys. Robb had Apple again; Jon and Theon rode broad-backed garrons. Jon's dun edged a hoof towards his boot while he tightened the girth. He shifted clear, pressed a hand against its shoulder until it stepped over, then led it a few paces before checking the strap.
Theon leaned down from his saddle. "He knows you have oats."
Jon gave the dun a few from his pocket. "That makes two of you watching."
Robb checked Apple's girth while Arthur came from the armoury. The knight wore a hunting sword; Dawn remained wrapped in his chamber. He looked at the tender seam beside Jon's thumb, then drew on his gloves.
Arthur touched the glove over the newly healed cut. "Any pulling here, tell me."
"I will."
The knight looked once towards the crows, then checked the girth himself. Eddard crossed the yard in mail and dark riding leathers. His old grey cloak was beaded with rain. Jory offered him the heaviest spear.
"The old boar has one torn ear," Eddard said once he was mounted. "One tusk pale, one dark. Sow and young pass. No arrow flies unless Farlen or I name the beast. Theon, you carry the second horn."
Theon's look brightened. Robb's soured, and he demanded the horn for himself. "Theon has the stronger wind," Eddard said. "You may have a turn when Farlen has no need of it."
Robb claimed excellent wind. Theon observed that he spent most of it talking. The gate rose before the dispute could grow, and men, hounds and horses passed beneath the dripping teeth of the portcullis to take the road into the wolfswood. For the first mile the way allowed three riders abreast. Alder and silver birch gave way to oak. Wet leaves darkened the earth to rust-red, and every low branch shook cold water down the boys' necks. Farlen rode ahead with Eddard and Jory. Ser Rodrik kept the children behind them, Arthur at Jon's left and Hallis beside Robb. The dun garron's rolling gait brought back red lamps above a steel deck and men waiting for an order while weather hammered the world flat. He could remember the cramped galley afterward, the hot drink handed across to him, and the ordinary relief of having brought everyone through. Here the road smelled of wet oak, and Robb was arguing about the hounds. Jon drew his hood forward and listened.
Eddard let his horse fall back. "You are too quiet, and Farlen has already endured Robb and Theon. Whatever you say cannot frighten the boar more than they have."
His father glanced at the mud dried along Jon's boots. "Was Woods satisfied with the footing?"
"After we packed beneath the west stone. Oren noticed it had settled before the timber was fastened down."
Eddard nodded once. "Then Branch chose his apprentice well. Have Woods look at the other pads before he raises the frame."
"He is checking them while we are out." Jon had expected his father to ask about the price of the timber. Since giving leave for the move, Eddard had begun asking about the work itself.
"Wylla says I have too few linen chests."
"You have time to put that right before the roof is on," Eddard said.
"She has already told Woods," Arthur said from Jon's other side. "Twice."
"Then I doubt he will forget."
"Where will the horses wait?" Jon asked. "Farlen means to leave the eastern track open."
"Below Grey Shelf, west of it." Eddard looked ahead to where the kennelmaster had stopped beneath a tree. "Where the charcoal road bends below the split oak. It is well clear of the run."
For a while Eddard rode beside them without speaking. The track skirted a clearing where charcoal burners had stacked billets beneath a turf shelter. One came out to bow, black dust showing in the folds of his neck. Eddard asked whether his son's leg had mended. The man said he was cutting again and pointed towards the farther stand of trees.
Robb leaned round Jon to look. "Was that the one beneath the tree?"
"A limb," Eddard said. "Jory brought him in last moon." He asked the burner to send word if the young man still walked painfully, then raised a hand and rode on.
They watered the horses at a shallow run. Jon stayed in the saddle while the dun drank, loosening his grip long enough to work the stiffness out of his fingers. Beside him Eddard pushed his hood back. Rain had silvered the brown hair at his temples, and a drop hung from the end of his nose until Robb told him.
"You could have said so sooner," Eddard said, wiping it away.
"I thought it would fall."
Arthur laughed quietly behind them. Across the run Theon shook rainwater from the horn. Farlen beckoned him closer and reminded him to wait for a signal before blowing it, then gathered the hounds and took them deeper into the wood.
The road narrowed, and they fell into single file. Munin dropped to a low limb with a rowan berry in her beak. Her hunger brushed Jon's mind. He rode past without looking up. Arthur kept his mare close.
* * *
Farlen raised his fist beside a beech rubbed raw near the ground. Riders drew rein while the kennelmen held the straining hounds. Water moved somewhere beyond the trees. Coarse black hair clung to dried mud upon the trunk, and a root below bore one fresh white gouge. Robb started to dismount. Rodrik caught his belt. "Stay in the saddle until told."
Farlen crushed the hair between his fingers. "Large boar. He rubbed after the rain and went towards the ridge."
Brindle pulled hard enough to tremble from muzzle to tail. A forester found one print in the wallow, deep and sharp along the forward edge. "Grey Shelf," Farlen decided. "Horses take the lower stone. Beaters around the north cut."
Orders passed backwards from mouth to mouth. Hallis sent four guards with the mounts. Farlen shortened the young hounds' leashes and put Brindle into the hands of his best kennelman. The boys carried light bows. Theon's could kill a deer. Jon's could trouble one. A young hart burst from hazel as they walked. One antler forked; the other had broken near the brow. Theon had an arrow on the string before Hallis cursed, but did not loose. "I had him," Theon said when the white tail vanished.
"And no leave to shoot him," Rodrik answered. Grey Shelf rose like a stone shoulder above a shallow bowl. A game run came from the north and divided beneath three oaks. Thorn closed the west. Broken earth climbed east towards Sentinel Ridge. A fallen oak lay across the lower slope, its torn roots making a wall higher than Jon's chest. Farlen put Jory and two spearmen at the northern run. Hallis held the east rise with Alyn and Desmond, watching the open way rather than barring it. Eddard stood below them, between the northern spears and the fallen oak. Rodrik, Arthur and the boys waited behind the fallen oak. Harwin kept spare spears and the third horn ten paces downhill. The beaters vanished around the ridge. Their red rags showed between trunks like scraps of fresh blood. One long horn sounded. Shields began striking trees. At first the blows came separately, hollow and uncertain. Then men's voices joined them. Dead fern broke. Hounds whined against leather. A hare fled between Jory's boots. Robb laughed too loudly and caught himself. Jon's palms sweated within his gloves. Leaves stirred in the bowl. Three striped shoats came low and fast, followed by a sow with mud along her belly and foam at her lips. She swerved from Jory's points and ran past the root end of the fallen oak. Theon drew.
Arthur pressed the bow stave down before Theon could complete his draw. "Sow."
Theon flushed, eased the string forward and took the arrow off it.
The sow and young vanished into thorn. Brindle did not follow them. Her nose had turned east. Every hair along her back stood. "Hold," Farlen called.
A beater shouted from the eastern rise. Ferns shook behind him. Another man scrambled down the bank, lost his footing and slid almost to Hallis's feet. Farlen called to break the drive. Theon raised the horn at Rodrik's signal and sounded two short notes. The knocking ceased beyond the ridge, but branches were already cracking much nearer.
The hounds dragged their handlers towards the noise. Hallis and Alyn went up to help the fallen beater; Desmond stood below them with his spear. Eddard crossed from the northern run. Between the trees Jon caught a glimpse of red cloth, then lost it. The men were coming down the very track left open for the boar.
Hugin's fear struck him with a second glimpse, higher and farther east: two beaters scrambling over roots, a black back moving behind them. "There!" Jon pointed beyond Desmond. "Men still on the track."
Rodrik shouted the warning. The beast appeared before either beater could answer, black-backed and high at the shoulder, its left ear hanging torn. Desmond planted his spear. Loose earth slipped beneath his heel as the boar struck; the point scraped shoulder, the crosspiece glanced from bone, and the shaft spun out of his hands. A tusk opened leather and wool along his thigh. Hallis thrust from the side. His spear entered behind the ribs and tore free as the boar turned away. The beaters scattered. Barrel escaped his handler and the other hounds were slipped after him. For a moment the animal vanished among men, dogs and shaking fern. Then it broke east through the gap, blood bright upon its flank. Alyn dragged Desmond behind a tree. Eddard knelt beside him. "Jory, keep it off the charcoal road. Rodrik, take the boys to the horses."
Harwin came up with linen from his saddle bag and pressed it against Desmond's wound. Arthur steered Jon and Robb past them, keeping himself between the boys and the open wood. Farlen appeared carrying Barrel. The dog's flank was torn to the ribs. He wrapped him in a beater's coat and put the man's hands upon the folded cloth. "Hold that firmly. I will come back for him."
Then he ran after Brindle and Red Jeyne. Rodrik drove the boys towards Grey Shelf. "No questions. Move."
A shout reached them before they saw the horses. A guard came running down the track with a broken rope in one hand and blood upon his cheek. "It came through the ties, ser. Gored the bay. We had to loose the others or be trampled." Two mounts stood trembling beside their grooms. Beyond them, hoofprints tore the wet ground towards the charcoal road.
Rodrik put the boys behind the root bank of an uprooted fir beside the road. The two guards who had remained with the grooms brought their spears across the track. Farther off, Jory's three notes called the other spearmen together. Hounds answered from the bend. "Stay here," Rodrik told the boys. "Do not come out."
Hugin broke through the trees, flying low. The crow's fright touched Jon: men running, red leaves, a black back beneath branches. He fixed himself in his own body—boot against root, wet glove on bark—and thrust the bird away. "Boar upon the east road, below the split oak. Coming fast towards this bend."
Rodrik's grey whiskers bristled. His gaze found the black wings overhead. "How close?"
"Just below the oak. Two hounds after him." Jon gripped the root beneath his hand.
Arthur drew his hunting sword. "Keep the points low. Rodrik, stay with them." He moved beside the nearer spearman, watching the bend.
The bay mare came first, her saddle slipped beneath her belly and a tusk wound bright upon her haunch. She swerved towards the boys. Arthur caught her bridle and turned her away; a forehoof struck his shoulder as she reared. Rodrik seized the other rein while one guard cut the hanging girth. The saddle fell between their feet. For an instant the mare's terror filled Jon—leather biting his belly, men barring every road. He pressed his heel hard against the root and kept looking at his own gloved hands.
The mare pulled free as the cut girth parted and bolted downhill. Behind her came Alyn, bareheaded and panting, with his spear held low. Brindle and Red Jeyne darted at the wounded boar behind him, checking its rush whenever it turned upon one of them. Theon sounded three notes. Arthur left the mare and ran towards Alyn.
"Off the road and behind the points!" Arthur shouted at Alyn, already running towards him through the black mud.
The guards lowered their points, but Alyn was between them and the animal. His boot caught in a stirrup of the fallen saddle. He stumbled to one knee, dropping his spear across the ditch. Red Jeyne flew at the boar's face. It tossed her against the bank and turned upon Brindle. Arthur caught Alyn beneath the arms.
"Round him!" Jon shouted to the nearer guard. "Theon, the boar—by the torn ear!"
The guards sought an angle past Alyn. Arthur dragged him backwards, but Alyn's boot remained wedged in the stirrup, dragging the saddle after him. Robb saw the snag. Before Jon could catch him, he darted from the roots, lifted the iron and worked it off Alyn's heel.
"Robb, back!" Theon loosed. The arrow entered slantwise behind the torn ear. The boar flung its head towards the pain, and the pale tusk passed clear of Alyn while Arthur dragged him from the saddle. Then it came on again. Jon slid down the bank and caught the fallen spear. Its long shaft was awkward in his hands; he could never hold it against that charge. He shoved the butt between two crossing roots, resting the shaft against the bank while he brought the point round. Beyond it, Robb was still struggling out of Alyn's way. "Jon!" Eddard's voice came from the bend.
Jon pushed the point towards the boar's shoulder. Iron met hide and drove inward. The butt jammed hard between the roots; the shaft bowed against the bank, then jerked upwards in his hands. He tried to let go. The blow threw him sideways before he managed it. His knee struck stone. Blood splashed his face as the boar drove against the crosspiece and twisted, carrying the spear with it.
Its forelegs folded. The carcass rolled, wrenching the spear sideways. Arthur caught Jon across the ribs and hauled him up the bank. Below, the boar kicked twice and scraped leaves into a red fan. Then only Brindle moved, barking into its ruined ear. Arthur spoke against Jon's hair. "Open your hands."
They were still fists around a shaft no longer there. "Jon. Give me your fingers." Arthur's breath shook against his hair.
Arthur prised them open one at a time. The right glove had split at the palm. Most of the blood belonged to the boar. Not all. Eddard reached them as Rodrik helped Alyn up the bank. Robb let the stirrup fall and sat in the road. Theon kept another arrow upon the string, its head wandering as his hands shook. "Point it down," Rodrik ordered. "Let down the string."
Theon swallowed against a dry throat. "There may be another beast behind it." His arrowhead wandered across the road.
"Take the arrow off. You are pointing at Alyn." Theon eased his draw and lowered the bow. Farlen arrived with Jory and Hallis. He passed the boar and knelt beside Red Jeyne, feeling beneath her foreleg for the movement of her chest.
"Bite if you please," he muttered. "Only keep breathing." Red Jeyne's teeth closed weakly upon his sleeve.
He splinted her dragging leg with hazel and torn cloth. Barrel came after in the beater's coat, snarling whenever pain made him weak. Both dogs lived. Alyn had no tusk wound, only thorn cuts and a shoulder bruised beneath mail. Eddard looked from Robb to Jon, still held against Arthur's chest. "Show me."
Jon tried to answer, but his teeth had begun to chatter. Eddard found the torn glove, then checked beneath his arm.
"Bring a litter."
Hallis and a guard cut two straight saplings and lashed a cloak between them. Arthur lowered Jon onto it. His stomach heaved, and Eddard made the bearers wait until it passed.
Theon stood over the arrow behind the torn ear. "I turned it."
Alyn pushed himself upright. "You turned the tusk from my belly." Theon nodded once, staring at the broken shaft until Rodrik took his arm and brought him away.
Farlen rolled back the boar's foreleg and examined the wound. He looked from the buried spear to the roots that had braced its butt, then towards Jon. His mouth tightened.
Eddard sent a groom ahead on one of the recovered horses. Luwin was to have warning before the wounded arrived. Then he called for Desmond and told the bearers to take Jon down to the road. "Steady over the bank. He has had enough jolting."
* * *
Farlen stayed behind with the beaters and two guards. On clean ground above the run they rolled the carcass onto poles. Steam rose when the belly opened. The kennelmaster cut Theon's arrowhead free and wrapped it to carry home with the meat.
The sound hounds received their share. Barrel and Red Jeyne went back wrapped in coats, each carried by a kennelman. Farlen set aside one shoulder for the beaters and the other for his kennels. Heart, liver and haunches were bound for Winterfell, with the head whole for the hall.
The meat followed on a drag. Eddard did not wait for it. He went ahead with his sons, Arthur and the litters, taking the easier road wherever a rougher path might shake Desmond's dressing loose.
Robb walked beside Jon with one hand on the litter pole. For a while he watched his own boots. Then he said, "His foot was caught. I saw it."
"I know."
"Uncle Arthur was pulling, but he did not see."
The bearers lifted the pole over a fallen branch. Jon clenched his teeth until they had him level again. Robb's hand slipped from the wet wood; he caught it with both hands.
"You might have shouted," Jon said.
"I thought I could do it." Robb looked at the blood upon Jon's glove. "I did do it."
"And I thought it would catch you before you came back."
Robb said nothing. His cap was gone, his hair wet against his forehead. Jon remembered the moment he had looked up from the ditch and found that red head in front of the boar. He could still feel the spear jerking out of his hands.
"Next time call me," he said. "Or Arthur. Let us hear you before you run."
Robb nodded. A little later he put his hand beside Jon's sound one on the blanket and left it there. At Winterfell, Luwin sent Desmond to the infirmary and cut Jon's glove away. Catelyn examined Robb from throat to heel before coming to the litter.
"How much is yours?" she asked, touching the dried red upon Jon's torn sleeve before looking at his face.
"Not much." Jon lifted his good hand towards the torn glove. "Here."
Wylla came with hot water. Arthur helped her unbuckle the coat while Luwin dressed the cut in his palm. She found a pale scrape beneath his arm and held the leather against it.
"Gods, Jon." She bent and kissed his hair, then drew back before he could see her face.
Supper was late. Boar liver hissed in onions at the hearth, but Jon could not bear the smell. Wylla gave him broth in a small cup, and Robb tore bread into it. Theon talked loudly through two helpings of liver and left the second half untouched.
Sansa came to Jon's bench before leaving for bed. She stopped beside Wylla rather than crowding him and looked at the linen around his palm.
"Will you still move if your hand hurts?"
"The house is not finished, Sansa. My hand will mend first."
She accepted that, then looked towards Robb. "Mother says neither of you is to tell Arya about the boar before bed."
"Why?" Robb asked.
"Because she will ask to see it."
From the passage Arya's voice called, "See what?"
Catelyn appeared behind her with one hand upon the little girl's shoulder. Her gaze went first to Robb, then to Jon's bound hand and torn sleeve. She did not ask about the house. She only said, "Upstairs, Arya."
Arya tried to look around her. "What did they see?"
"Something that will still be there tomorrow."
That promise carried her away more readily than any order. Sansa followed, looking back once at Jon's bandage.
Catelyn remained for a moment. "Drink your broth before it goes cold."
"Aye, my lady."
She went after the girls, leaving Robb beside him.
Jon looked down at the broth. He had spent much of the week thinking about the first night he would sleep below the walls. Tonight the old chamber upstairs did not feel like a place he had already left.
Eddard sent for them once the girls had gone. Wylla took Jon's cup and went with the three boys to the solar, where Farlen, Jory, Hallis, Rodrik and Arthur were waiting.
Farlen gave his report when Eddard called upon him. "The last pair stood too far apart, my lord. The boar rose behind them, and we could not see who had cleared the east road."
Hallis laid the broken lead rope beside Farlen's hand. "The boar doubled back through the horses. The bay broke her tie. The others pulled after her."
"And I went to the mare," Rodrik said. "I meant to stay with the boys. When she came at them, we both moved."
Arthur looked at him. "I had their charge first."
Eddard looked at the rope. "They were too close to the drive. Next time the horses stay beyond the ridge, and a guard takes the boys straight to them at the first break. Arthur goes with Jon. The rest of us can manage the hunt."
The kennelmaster nodded. "I will walk both roads before we bring them out again."
"Aye." Eddard turned to the boys. "We will leave hunting for a while. When Luwin permits, you may go with Farlen to look at the ground. Until then, you can help him with the hounds."
Theon glanced at his sleeve. Barrel had bitten it twice already. "Does that include the one that hates me?"
"Especially him," Farlen said.
Robb kept looking at Jon's bandage. Eddard sent him with Theon when Farlen rose. At the door the kennelmaster stopped and turned to Jon. "Well chosen, those roots, my lord. They held the butt when nothing else could."
Arthur waited until the door shut. "We nearly lost both of them."
"I saw." Eddard's voice had roughened. "I will not take them out behind the same arrangements."
Wylla lifted Jon's empty cup from the table. "Then that is settled for tonight."
Jon pushed himself from the chair. His shoulder hurt before his feet reached the floor. Eddard offered a forearm, and Jon took it. They crossed the gallery above the quiet yard. Rain tapped the shutters; below, men washed blood from the boar drag.
"Are you still angry?" Jon asked.
"Aye," Eddard said. He kept his eyes upon the far end of the gallery.
"At me?" Jon asked.
Eddard stopped beneath an arch. Rain rattled the gutter above them. His long face tightened as he looked down at Jon. "I saw you put the spear down. I was running, and I knew I would not reach you."
Jon looked at his father's hand beneath his elbow. The knuckles were scraped raw. He had not noticed before.
"Arthur had hold of Alyn," Jon said. "Robb was beside him. I had to stop it."
"I know why you did it."
For a moment neither moved. A servant passed below carrying a bloodied hide towards the cold room. Eddard waited until the man was gone, then drew Jon against his side, carefully above the bruised shoulder.
"You are angry because I did it," Jon said, "and you cannot tell me what else I ought to have done."
Eddard looked at him. "No. I cannot."
Jon had been ready to argue. He let his father hold him instead.
Jon listened to the rain. He had frightened his own wife like that once, coming home after weeks in which she had heard nothing but the loss of another ship. He could remember being too tired to understand her anger.
"We might have lost more men trying to save Alyn," he said at last.
Eddard looked down at him. "We might. He is alive, and so are you. I am glad of both."
At the turn towards his chamber Jon leaned a little more heavily on his father's arm, looking towards the familiar door. Eddard had carried him along this passage often enough after fever or an evening that outlasted his strength. Soon Jon meant to choose another roof at the end of most days.
Eddard seemed to follow his glance. "Your room does not vanish because you have another one."
Jon rested his head against the grey wool. "I know."
"See that you remember it when Robb fills the new one with his belongings."
Jon gave a tired breath that almost became a laugh. "He has already claimed a mattress."
"So I have heard."
Eddard opened the bedchamber. A brazier glowed beside the wall. Fresh linen waited, and Wylla had left a bowl of stewed apples near enough to smell the cinnamon.
Jon looked at the apples. "Could I have some?"
His right hand was bound and the left shoulder would not lift cleanly. Eddard held the spoon. Jon ate three mouthfuls. The apples were tart beneath honey and warm enough to ease the chill in his belly.
"Will Lady Catelyn forbid Robb the yard?" Jon asked.
"Not for long. But he will have to obey Ser Rodrik." Eddard dipped the spoon again. "She wants to know he will come home whole."
Jon watched the fire. Catelyn had touched his torn sleeve before asking about the blood. He had not expected that.
Arthur entered as Eddard put down the spoon. He checked that the fresh dressing had not slipped, then sat on Jon's other side. Jon opened his fingers to show him that he could.
The knight's fingers were gentle. That made it harder to look at him.
"Does your shoulder hurt?" Jon asked.
Arthur glanced up. "A little. Why?"
"The mare struck you."
"It has been struck before." He flexed his own shoulder and winced. "Not many of my opponents have had such large feet."
Jon managed a small smile. Arthur left his hand resting on the coverlet, close to Jon's sound one, without asking him to describe the charge again.
Wylla came with clean water. Arthur rose from the chair beside Jon's head and brought it nearer for her. Eddard set the apples within reach for later and banked the brazier.
Jon caught Wylla's sleeve as she turned to set down the ewer. She put her hand over his. "I am staying."
* * *
Pain woke him before midnight. The bound palm lay upon his chest. His shoulder throbbed whenever he turned. From the adjoining chamber came the scrape of Arthur's chair and then stillness. Jon slept again beneath the smell of boiled linen and boar blood. A crow called from a branch he could not see. He followed the sound through a drift of red leaves, and a hundred bowstrings spoke together. He stood above a southern field drowned in dust. His right hand was bound as in Winterfell, but the sun burned white and cruel. Archers crowded the ridge in smoke-coloured cloaks, sucking air after the climb. One retched, wiped his beard and reached for another shaft. Below them, horsemen broke through a line of foot and swerved as fresh spears came down beyond it. A loose destrier ran with its belly open until a spearman stepped from the rank and ended its screaming. Near the centre flew a black dragon upon red. Redgrass Field. Daemon Blackfyre had driven the royal host almost to ruin, then stopped to save Gwayne Corbray from trampling. While he lingered below, the archers gained the crest above him. Jon counted without willing it: beaten ground to the standard, crosswind tugging cloak hems, breaths the archers needed before their hands steadied. The broken line recalled a steel deck and black water rising beyond an open hatch. Jon remembered giving the order to close it while men were still beyond it. He kept his eyes upon the archers; this was no memory he would discuss with the man who had brought him here. At the edge of his sight a pale trunk took the shape of a man. Bloodraven watched beside him, one red eye bright in a face crossed by fine white roots. "These men stood where I could see them," he said. "Attend to the ridge." Ten paces ahead, the younger Brynden Rivers still had both eyes. He was narrow, white-haired and not much older than Arthur had been at the Trident. A wine-red birthmark climbed his throat and cheek. Dark Sister hung from his hip. In his hands he held a weirwood bow as tall as he was. "Look beneath the dragon," the old sorcerer said.
Daemon stood beside a white horse with Blackfyre bare in one hand. Wind spread his silver-gold hair across the broad shoulders of his black-and-red plate; even amid the broken ranks, Jon found him as readily as the banner. His twin sons rode close under the standard, red surcoats hanging loosely over mail. Aegon and Aemon were twelve. Beneath the loose surcoats, their mail sleeves had been gathered back from their wrists. One archer named the wind. Another called the distance. The Raven's Teeth planted their feet. "Did you know Baelor had reached the rear?" Jon asked.
"No."
"Did you know Daemon would go to Aegon?"
"I knew my brother loved his sons."
The first flight rose against the sun. Aegon fell from the saddle. Daemon turned at once towards the fallen boy. A knight stepped into his path, pointing towards the royal line. Daemon pushed him aside, dropped beside his son and cradled the bloodied head while arrows struck around his knees. "Again," young Brynden ordered.
The second storm fell through men and horses. Daemon bent over Aegon. Shafts stood in his shoulder and back. Blackfyre slid from his hand. Aemon jumped down. Hands reached for him. He tore free, took up his father's sword with both hands and raised it beneath the black dragon. The point dragged before he got it clear of the ground. The third flight struck him beneath the standard. After it passed, Blackfyre lay across the younger twin. Men nearest the fallen dragon began to run. Those behind tried to see past them, lowering shields and turning towards the retreat. "You chose Aegon because Daemon would go to him," Jon said.
"I loosed upon a rebel king and the sons who bore his banner."
"They were children."
"And you drove at the boar for your brother." White tusks flashed between the horsemen for an instant. Bloodraven watched the broken image fade. "You have brought that choice with you."
The field struck harder than Jon had expected. On the flank, Bittersteel raised a red stallion with black wings. The mane upon his horsehead helm streamed behind plain grey steel as he rode among the fugitives. He lifted Blackfyre, and men who had been running turned when they saw the sword. "What if you had waited?" Jon asked.
"I did not know when Baelor would come. I knew only the ridge, the wind and the man beneath the dragon."
"And the boys."
"And the boys." Below the ridge, men were still fighting for the ground around the fallen standard. Jon searched beyond them for Baelor's banners and found only dust.
"Would you loose?" Bloodraven asked. Jon had been watching the gap open around the fallen standard. Those archers had stopped Daemon when the men below could not; if he had rallied them, thousands might still have died fighting him. Jon could see why Brynden had given the order. He could also see Aemon's hands dragging Blackfyre clear of the ground, and the arrows arriving before the boy could use it.
"I would have," he said. "That is what frightens me." He woke with his bound fist pressed against his heart.
Arthur sat in the dark with one hand resting on Jon's good shoulder. "Where?"
"Redgrass."
"Did he speak?"
"Aye. He knew Daemon would go to Aegon. He did not know when Breakspear would reach the rear."
"And what did he ask of you?"
"Whether I would order the arrows." Arthur waited.
Jon flexed his bandaged fingers. "I said I would have. Then I remembered Robb in the road." Arthur drew his chair closer to the bed.
By morning the faces were fading. Jon asked Arthur for parchment and began writing while the knight held the edge flat beside his bandaged hand. He could remember the bowstrings better than the words.
"Aemon looked so young holding Blackfyre," Jon said.
Arthur glanced at the unfinished page. "Have you read an account that named him there?"
"Aye. I knew how it ended." Jon rested his aching hand. "That does not mean he showed me all of it. I saw the arrows. He did not show me what waiting would have cost either."
Arthur was quiet for a time. Then he turned the sheet over for Jon to finish on the back.
Outside, men were hanging the pale tusk in the hall. Jon heard the ladder scrape the floor below. He finished the last line and watched Arthur fold the parchment into the little packet he kept beneath his spare shirts.
Robb came to fetch him with a torn sleeve held in one fist. "Barrel bit me."
"I thought he hated Theon."
"He has enough hate." Robb showed the ragged hole. "Wylla says I must mend it myself."
Jon went with him to find a needle. He could not stitch with his bound hand, but he could hold the sleeve while Robb worked. By the third crooked seam his brother had begun telling him, in great detail, how a wounded dog ought to be grateful.
The knot caught in the wool. Robb pulled it harder, frowned and held the sleeve almost against his nose.
"From this side," Jon said. He turned the cloth with his sound hand and freed the loop. "There."
Robb drew the thread through. The torn edges met in a puckered ridge. It was a poor repair, but the hole was closed, and he held it up for Wylla when she came to see what they had done.
"That will keep the wind out," she said. "A little flatter next time."
"I am not letting him bite it next time."
She took the needle before he could leave it in the cushion. Jon leaned back against the folded blanket, his shoulder easing now that he no longer had to hold the sleeve. Robb remained beside him, picking loose threads from the mend and talking of a leather patch he might put there. Below the window a kennelman called Barrel's name. Both boys listened until the old hound answered.
Wylla gathered the spare thread into the little sewing box. Two of Jon's winter shirts were already folded in a separate basket beside the wall, not for washing but for the new house. She had begun making such piles without ceremony: linen that could go below, linen that would remain at Winterfell, blankets for Jon's chamber, another pair because Robb had apparently convinced everyone that one visit required its own bedding.
Robb noticed the basket. "Is that mine?"
"No."
"The grey blanket is."
"The grey blanket belongs to Lord Stark's stores until Lord Stark says otherwise."
Robb looked at Jon. "You promised a mattress."
"I did not promise you Winterfell's blankets."
Wylla shut the sewing box before either boy could improve the bargain. "First we shall finish the roof. Then you may both quarrel over what goes beneath it."
Jon looked towards the basket after she carried it away. Until then the move had been lines on parchment, stone pads, timber and arguments over rooms. Seeing his own shirts folded for another chamber made it real in a way the first sill had not.