Darry and the lands around it were plain and unremarkable. The castle lay south of the Trident, only half a day's ride from the riverbanks. The Darrys swore fealty to the Trout, yet in the past they had fought just as fiercely for the true dragon as Maidenpool had.
The royal procession arrived at Darry Castle uninvited and became guests of its lord, Ser Raymun Darry. Queen Cersei still wanted riders sent along the river to hunt for the young wolf Nymeria, hoping to bring Joffrey a wolf pelt. King Robert rebuked her harshly for it, telling her to forget the matter and stop stirring up more trouble.
Cersei had also begun quarreling with Jaime, accusing him of not loving his "family" since he had refused to step forward and duel the Stark men. For a time, the entire castle seemed choked with tension.
Although Ser Raymun had sworn allegiance to the king, House Darry had once been among the great houses that fought for Prince Rhaegar beneath the banner of the true dragon at the Trident. All three of Raymun's elder brothers had died there, and neither Robert nor Ser Raymun had ever forgotten it.
Now the king's retinue, the Darry household, and the forces of House Lannister and House Stark were all crammed into the small castle together. The strain in the air was easy to imagine.
What made matters worse was the earlier fight between the lion cubs and the direwolf pups, which had reignited the conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters.
"Perhaps bringing only a hundred guards was a mistake. I should have brought more men," Eddard thought as he stood in a tower loft of Darry Castle. The red-cloaked Lannister soldiers moving through the courtyard were painfully conspicuous. If this were King's Landing, he would already be walking straight into the lion's jaws.
Jaime Lannister raised his head and met Eddard's gaze from below the tower. There was amusement in his eyes.
Jaime also wore a white cloak, but he gleamed with gold from head to toe. A lion-headed helmet sat upon his head, and a golden sword hung at his side. The two men were certainly no friends, yet Jaime had no interest in trading barbs with Eddard today. In truth, he thought Jon was not a bad knight.
Darry was the dangerous enemy, Jaime thought. He had no intention of saying it aloud, but it was something worth keeping in mind.
Tyrion had warned him. These traitors still clung to memories of the Targaryens. Hidden enemies like them were far more dangerous than the Stark fools.
When Robert traveled north to visit Winterfell, Tyrion had discovered that the tapestries depicting the Targaryen kings had been taken down and hidden away in the castle cellars.
"Am I the foolish one?" Eddard sighed, thinking of Cersei's furious face and Jaime's mocking gaze.
His thoughts drifted to his ancestor Cregan's march south. Sometimes swords brought justice. Perhaps he had trusted too much in justice alone.
Stannis had stopped writing to him as well. The Green lands were crawling with the Spider's spies.
Eddard truly had intended to save money. Winter was coming, and there was little point in bringing a massive escort to King's Landing. The Stark standing forces were limited, and assembling a full contingent would take time. Bran's injury had disrupted his plans further, and he had not yet properly studied the strategies Cregan had once used.
After some thought, Eddard went to Jon's room in the loft.
It was a remote and simple chamber, but unlike ordinary knights who slept in open halls or yards, Jon at least had a small room of his own. It was still the treatment given to someone of noble blood.
"Boy, perhaps I owe you an apology," Eddard said, looking at Jon's face. The constant arguments and compromises had left him weary. The cut from a sword tip would heal, but it would leave a scar.
"It's nothing, my lord," Jon said lightly.
His shoulder was still wrapped in thick bandages, the wound not yet fully healed. Still, Jon considered himself fortunate. The blade had not struck his sword hand or his palm.
As for the mark on his face, it was neither long nor deep.
Jon was lean and long-faced, with brown hair and gray eyes. He was an extra bastard, nothing more, and truth be told he was not particularly handsome. He could never rely on his looks, and he had no need to secure alliances through marriage.
"We'll still need these," Jon said, pointing to the gold dragons piled on his bed.
Six hundred gold dragons, gleaming brightly. The queen had displayed her generosity.
"The Lannisters sent them. I haven't spent a single coin."
"I do need gold," Eddard said with a faint smile, "but a Great Lord has no need to keep a child's toys. You keep it, lad."
He shook his head.
"Damn Lannisters. They truly are generous."
This gold will be far more useful in King's Landing than anything else, Jon thought. He decided to keep the coins safe for his father.
"My lord, you must be careful," Jon said quietly. "Their people are everywhere."
A bastard had to learn how to read people's expressions, to see the hidden anger and joy in their eyes.
The king's faction and the queen's faction were locked in struggle. In the royal court, the Lannisters held far more influence and soldiers than the Starks. And now the conflict between them had only grown sharper.
As for his father's old friend Robert, the king now knew only how to compromise, drowning himself in wine and women.
Eddard looked at Jon. It seemed the rumors were true. Bastards grew up early. In caution and quiet attentiveness, Jon already surpassed Robb. The thought made Eddard worry about the other children back in Winterfell.
"We have come to the wrong place. King's Landing is far more troublesome," Eddard said to him. "You must learn to protect yourself."
Jon nodded.
"I will protect myself. And Sansa. And Arya."
"Arya… that child is a constant worry. And Sansa… ah…" Eddard sighed.
Arya was wild. But Sansa was worse in another way.
The children had largely been raised under Catelyn's guidance in a southern fashion. At the time Eddard had supported it. He rarely interfered in household matters. Yet now when he looked at Sansa, she seemed already lost in dreams of becoming a prince's bride.
But they were northerners. Family. Honor. Unity. Eddard could not help thinking that a northern wife might not have raised the children this way.
"My lord, you must be careful. Watch out for those traitors. King's Landing holds half a million people. The people there only care about gold, and southerners are very good at lying," Jon said with concern.
"Traitors. Lies."
Eddard repeated the words quietly.
If traitors had their treachery written across their faces, the world would be much simpler. Great Lord Arryn had died in a traitor's hands, had he not? And lies? Everyone carried their own.
Just then the door to Jon's room burst open with a loud thud. Arya rushed in, her eyes swollen and red.
"Father, you're here too," Arya said.
"What is it, child? I came to see your brother." Eddard rubbed her head gently.
Then he noticed what she held.
"What is that?"
He stared in surprise at the sword in Arya's hand.
"Give it to me."
Arya handed it over reluctantly, muttering to herself and wondering if she would ever get to hold it again.
Eddard turned the blade slowly in the light, examining both edges before testing its sharpness with his thumb.
"This is a blade meant for killing," he said. "But I recognize the smith's mark. Mikken forged it."
"I gave it to her, my lord," Jon said quickly, standing up at once, feeling uneasy. "Arya, you shouldn't be carrying it around. This isn't a toy for children."
"I hate them," Arya said through clenched teeth. "Father, why won't you avenge my brother?"
"Who?" Eddard asked.
"That stupid Joffrey. And his arrogant mother. And Sansa. Sansa is a traitor."
"Enough. Revenge is not a word for a lady."
His voice was firm and stern.
"You never listen to the septa's lessons. The gods know how much trouble you have given that poor woman. Your mother and I asked her to teach you to become a lady, yet it seems an impossible task."
"I don't want to be a lady!" Arya snapped angrily. "I want a sword. I want to beat that stupid fool."
"I should snap this thing across my knee right now and put an end to this nonsense."
"My lord, please do not punish my sister," Jon said, standing up. The matter was partly his fault for not telling Eddard earlier.
"'Needle' will not break," Arya protested stubbornly, though even she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.
Eddard sighed.
"Ah, Arya, my child. There is a wildness in you. Your grandfather called it 'the blood of the running wolf.' Lyanna had a little of it. My brother Brandon had even more. Both of them died young."
Jon and Arya heard the sorrow in his voice. Eddard rarely spoke of his father or his siblings. All of them had died before the children were born.
"If your grandfather had allowed it, Lyanna might have taken up sword and spear as well. Sometimes when I look at you, you remind me of her. You even resemble her a little."
"Lyanna was a great beauty," Arya said in surprise. Everyone said so. Yet no one had ever compared Arya to her.
"Yes," Eddard agreed. "She was beautiful and willful. In the end, such beauty did not last long."
"Do not be too willful, my child. This is not Winterfell."
Jon remained silent.
No one had ever called him handsome. People only said he had the Stark look. His aunt Lyanna, the beauty said to rival kingdoms, must have shared the same Stark features he had, yet on her they were striking and radiant.
As for the blood of the running wolf, Jon did not think a bastard could afford to be so wild.
...
In the courtyard of Wolf's Den, Gendry and Daenerys watched Brienne take her leave.
"Are you really going?" Daenerys asked Brienne.
Brienne's eyes were large and blue, a maiden's eyes, clear and honest. But everything else about her was… harsh. Her face was round and rough, her teeth jutted out in a crooked line, her mouth was unsettlingly wide, and her lips were thick, almost like caterpillars. Freckles covered her forehead and cheeks in a dense scatter, and her nose looked as though it had been broken more times than anyone could count.
A formidable warrior, and an ugly woman.
"I'm sorry, Prince, Princess." Brienne looked embarrassed. "I'm grateful for your generosity and the way you've treated me, but I am Brienne of Tarth."
"I hope we meet again, and ride out together on the battlefield," Gendry said with a small smile. He did not try to stop her. Some people could not be kept, no matter how much you wanted them to stay.
Brienne was the heir to Tarth. And Renly had once shown her kindness. She would go to repay that debt first.
"A promise is a promise. I still have obligations in the Stormlands, and I need to return there first." Brienne looked between them. She had liked it here. The soldiers had not called her a monster, nor thrown cruel jokes at her. And both Prince and Princess were sincere people, more genuine than Renly's polished courtesy.
Brienne thought Renly and Gendry resembled one another, but anyone looking closely would never mistake them. The difference was too plain.
Gendry shared Renly's eyes and hair, but his build was entirely different. Even their gazes felt different. Lord Renly's eyes had been warm and eager, always on the verge of laughter. Gendry's carried the steadiness and confidence of a warrior.
Great Lord Renly had been tall and slender, not nearly as solidly made. Gendry's jaw was broader, his brows thicker. Renly had been refined and graceful, while Gendry had broad shoulders and the powerful arms of a warrior and a smith, like a stronger version of Renly, closer to Robert, who was famed for sheer strength.
"Take this. Gendry and I will be waiting for you," Daenerys said, pressing an exquisite quartered banner emblem into Brienne's hand.
Brienne turned and strode away, brisk and decisive.
"Poor girl," Anguy muttered. "Look at that figure. That face."
"Enough, Anguy." Gendry gave his squire a light pat, warning him to stop. "Not every woman has to live the way men think she should."
"She has a kind of charm, doesn't she?" Daenerys said, watching Brienne's back with open envy, a woman knight who could protect herself.