“If you don’t fly, you can only fall and die!”
The three-eyed crow pecked him as it shrieked; Bran Stark wept and begged.
It had no rcy. First it pecked out his left eye, then his right. When darkness swallowed him, its cruel, needle beak stabbed his brow and bored into bone.
Bran scread, his skull split by an axe of pain—yet when the crow drew out its beak, slick with splinters and brain, Bran could see again.
“With two eyes you see a man’s face—
with the third, a man’s heart…
“With two eyes you see the oak as it stands—
with the third, the acorn before and the stump to co…
“With two eyes you see a wall—
with the third, you see south to the Sumr Sea… and north, beyond the Wall…”
“Bran! Bran! Bran!”
Maester Luwin’s urgent voice yanked him from the dream.
“Ma… Maester Luwin?” Bran blinked. In all his life he had never seen Luwin so distraught.
“Quickly!” the maester ordered the others.
The room spun; a mont later Bran lay face-down across Hodor’s broad back.
Bran clutched at Luwin’s robe. His voice was steady. “Tell what’s happened.”
“Theon—he’s brought sea raiders against Winterfell. He knows this place…”
Luwin drew a breath. “Rickon has been taken. You and he are Robb’s heirs. You must not both fall into Theon’s hands.”
“My brother?!”
“I’ll keep him safe,” Luwin said, ruffling Bran’s hair.
A tall woman smoothed her tangled brown hair. “The gates are crawling with foes—short axes and sharp blades everywhere.”
A petite girl with brown hair and green eyes cinched her belt. “I’ll guard him, Maester.”
A slim youth in a green cloak, green-eyed to match, said, “We go north.”
Luwin’s kindly gaze swept the room. He nodded. “Through the crypts. That’s how you’ll leave Winterfell.”
He looked to Bran. “Go north, to the Wall. Find your uncle, Benjen Stark.”
The maester cupped Bran’s cheek. “From this day forward… you must be strong.”
Winterfell’s great hearth roared.
Benches were shoved to the walls; folk clustered in uneasy knots. No one dared speak.
Theon Greyjoy, black coat embroidered with a golden kraken, sat high upon the Stark high seat.
Maester Luwin stood below with little Rickon’s hand in his.
“That’s Robb’s chair,” the boy piped.
Theon patted the stone direwolf that capped the armrest and smiled. “Prince Theon, little one.”
His eyes slid to the maester. “Who would have dread it, eh? Winterfell in my grasp, Maester Luwin.”
“Eddard Stark was your foster-father,” Luwin said, drawing Rickon close.
“My foster-father—while I was a hostage,” Theon sneered. “He’s not coming back…”
He turned to the snarling pup. “Your crippled brother ran off and left you. Poor little cub.”
“Do not harm him,” Luwin warned.
Theon lifted his chin. “Listen. When the fighting outside is done, my n will herd the folk here. This boy will stand with and tell them he has yielded Winterfell to Prince Theon. He will command them to serve their new lord as they served the old.”
He leaned in, voice all threat. “Do you understand, old man?”
“I’ll never yield!” Rickon shouted, small voice ringing.
Luwin yanked him back. Theon’s smile turned dangerous. “This isn’t a child’s ga.”
“My father now wears the ancient crown of salt and rock,” Theon proclaid. “As conqueror, he may claim the North. You are his subjects.”
His voice hardened. “Keep the peace—by obeying. Am I clear?”
Eyes closed in grief, Luwin nodded.
“Take them below,” Theon said, satisfied at last.
When the old man and the boy were gone, his gaze roved the knot of noble girls.
He pinched his chin, amused. Once they had slighted or ignored him. Now they were his captives.
Fear… pleading… simpering… anger… hate… He saw it all on their faces.
Exhilarating. So this was the sweet of conquest.
What could they do?
He chuckled. “Heh, heh…”
Tried to smother it. “Hoo… hoo…”
I am a conqueror. “Ha…”
“Ha-ha…”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha—!”
Kneeling, Theon stared at black boots spattered with mud. Terror shook him; his limbs had gone weak. He had not ant to kneel.
“Theon, you have disappointed .”
He fought to raise his head. The tendons stood in his neck like earthworms under skin.
He died. He died— Why was he not dead?
“Hypocrite Stark!” Theon howled.
It was over. He wanted death—could not bear this—to die by his foster-father’s hand and have done.
Eddard Stark stood stern and tall, grey eyes cool upon the kneeling ironborn.
No rage. Only disappointnt, deep as winter.
“Kill !” Theon raged. “Kill , Stark!”
A voice roared from the hall, “Kill him!”
Then others: “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
Theon smiled through the din. His aim was t. He was a prince of the Iron Islands. What is dead may never die.
Eddard lifted one hand. Silence fell at once.
His voice was winter itself. “Child, I did not teach you well.”
“I am not your child!” Theon scread, fists white. “I was your hostage! Hostage! Hostage! Hostage!”
Breath rasped in the hush.
“You have done what cannot be forgiven,” Eddard said at last.
Theon’s twisted face bent into a strange smile.
“There is a place where honor may be won back,” said Eddard softly.
Theon froze. His will to die wavered.
“If you wish…”
Eddard turned his back. “I can have you take the black.”
A hush bood through the hall. They might not grasp the choice, but none would gainsay Eddard Stark.
Theon trembled—hating himself, hating his weakness, hating that courage had betrayed him.
Why the spark of joy at reprieve?
I… I… I just don’t want to die. Is that a sin?
I don’t want to die. I want to live.
Theon’s brow touched stone. His voice broke. “I’ll wear the black… m’lord Stark…”
Viserys City-State, the Governor’s Residence.
On the bed, Gawen Crabb watched Daenerys sleep, her head wrapped in a scarf. He smiled in his eyes. She had beco quite set on veils; since last ti he scarcely saw her bare scalp.
He thought back on the days just past. Most mories were of Westerosi love.
He drew Daenerys closer and closed his eyes. Just a little…
Next evening, at a reed-ringed lake.
… the splash of water…
… a low, half-sung hum…
Stars winked above; the lake lay like a mirror, holding the night.
By the fire, Daenerys, cheeks faintly flushed, leaned with closed eyes against Gawen’s chest.
His hand moved at her waist; she laughed softly.
She turned, lifting her face to his. Their eyes t.
“Gawen,” she asked, eyes wet, “are you leaving ?”
A flicker of surprise. How had she known—so intuition?
He sighed. “The Vale and the Crab Claw have fifteen years of blood between them. I rule the Crab Claw. My people look to to lead them to vengeance.”
Her violet eyes fell; she swallowed her sorrow.
“I believe you,” she whispered. “You’ll win.”
“I’ll take six thousand into the Vale,” he said, mouth quirking. “They have tens of thousands of riders. Do you still believe?”
She raised her eyes, grave as a vow. “You will win. You will be a hero sung in legend. The gods will bless your war of vengeance.”
He squeezed her hand. She lowered her head and murmured, “I’ll wait here for your triumphant return.”
“Dany…”
She burrowed into his chest and did not answer.
He smiled, then said, “I an to conquer the Vale. Do you believe I can?”
In his arms, she nodded—and clung to him more tightly.
Warmth spread across his shirt—her tears.
He sighed again. “Do you not believe I can conquer the Vale?”
She stilled, stole a hand to wipe her cheeks, and drew back.
“I believe,” she said, eyes shining, and nodded once more.
“Thank you,” Gawen said softly. “For your unshakable trust.”
He thumbed away her tears. “Since you trust so…”
He smiled, gentle as dawn. “Co back to the Crab Claw with , my princess.”
Her pupils tightened. She stared at him, then slowly shook her head. “The usurpers won’t relent. I won’t drag you down. I believe…”
She turned her face aside. “In ti…”
She wanted to say: when a better chance ca… when her dragons were grown… but “in ti” was far away, and parting from Gawen near at hand.
She had even thought to keep him here—yet he had only just regained the Crabb lordship, and he had no heir. She could not ask it.
Gawen cupped her chin and drew her back. “Do you not trust ?”
“I do, but—”
“No buts, Dany.”
“But—”
“No buts, my Dany.”
They held each other’s gaze a long while. A tear slid from the corner of her eye. She nodded.
He smiled and placed a warm kiss upon her brow. “Then… my princess—let tell you my plan.”
Tears glimred again. She stroked his face… then pushed him lightly.
“Gawen, lie back.”
.
.
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