“A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed51 out. “Your Boy King
lost ten thousand mentaking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it.
Someone should have told him that war isn’t agame.” He took another
sip16 of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeren Targaryen was
onlyeighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”
“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried
to sit very straight, tomake himself seem taller. “I want to serve in
the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”
He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers
slept around him. Robbwould someday inherit Winterfell, would command
great armies as the Warden52 of the North. Branand Rickon would be
Robb’s bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and
Sansawould marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress
of castles of their own. But whatplace could a bastard hope to earn?
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn
brotherhood53. We haveno families. None of us will ever father sons.
Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.”
“A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.”
“You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have
known a woman,you cannot understand what you would be giving up.”
“I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly.
“You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the
oath would cost you,you might be less eager to pay the price, son.”
Jon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!”
Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder.
“Come back to me afteryou’ve fathered a few bastards of your own,
and we’ll see how you feel.”
Jon trembled. “I will never father a bastard,” he said carefully. “Never!”
He spat54 it out like venom55.
Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all
looking at him. He felt thetears begin to well behind his eyes.
He pushed himself to his feet.
“I must be excused,” he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted
before they couldsee him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized.
His feet got tangled56 under him as hetried to leave, and he lurched sideways into
a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashingto the floor. Laughter boomed
all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried tosteady him.
He wrenched57 free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed
close athis heels, out into the night.
blind, for the door. Ghost followed close athis heels, out into the night.
The yard was quiet and empty. A lone58 sentry59 stood high on the battlements
of the inner wall, hiscloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored
and miserable60 as he huddled61 therealone, but Jon would have traded places with
him in an instant. Otherwise the castle was dark anddeserted. Jon had seen an
abandoned holdfast once, a drear place where nothing moved but the windand
the stones kept silent about whatever people had lived there.
Winterfell reminded him of thattonight.
The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him.
They were the lastthings Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the
sleeve of his shirt, furious that he had letthem fall, and turned to go.
“Boy,” a voice called out to him. Jon turned.
Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge62 above the door to the Great Hall,
looking for all the worldlike a gargoyle63. The dwarf grinned down at him.
“Is that animal a wolf?”
“A direwolf,” Jon said. “His name is Ghost.” He stared up at the little man,
his disappointmentsuddenly forgotten. “What are you doing up there?
Why aren’t you at the feast?”
“Too hot, too noisy, and I’d drunk too much wine,” the dwarf told him.
“I learned long ago that itis considered rude to vomit64 on your brother.
Might I have a closer look at your wolf?”
Jon hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Can you climb down, or shall I bring a ladder?”
“Oh, bleed that,” the little man said. He pushed himself off the ledge into empty
air. Jon gasped,then watched with awe65 as Tyrion Lannister spun66 around in
a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands,then vaulted67 backward onto his legs.
Ghost backed away from him uncertainly.
The dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. “I believe I’ve frightened your wolf.
My apologies.”
“He’s not scared,” Jon said. He knelt and called out. “Ghost, come here. Come on.
That’s it.”
The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon’s face, but he kept a wary68 eye
on Tyrion Lannister,and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back
and bared his fangs in a silent snarl69. “Shy,isn’t he?” Lannister observed.
“Sit, Ghost,” Jon commanded. “That’s it. Keep still.” He looked up at the dwarf.
“You can touchhim now. He won’t move until I tell him to. I’ve been training him.”
“I see,” Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost’s ears
and said, “Nice wolf.”
“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet,
but it would be.
“In that case, you had best stay close,” the dwarf said. He cocked his oversized
head to one sideand looked Jon over with his mismatched eyes.
“I am Tyrion Lannister.”
“I know,” Jon said. He rose. Standing70, he was taller than the dwarf.
It made him feel strange.
“You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”
Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
“Did I offend you?” Lannister said. “Sorry. Dwarfs71 don’t have to be tactful.
Generations ofcapering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly
and say any damn thing that comes intomy head.” He grinned.
“You are the bastard, though.”
“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon admitted stiffly.
Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north
in you thanyour brothers.”
“Half brothers,” Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf’s comment,
but he tried not to let itshow.
“Let me give you some counsel, bastard,” Lannister said. “Never forget what you are,
for surelythe world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness.
Armor yourself in it,and it will never be used to hurt you.”
Jon was in no mood for anyone’s counsel. “What do you know about being a bastard?”
“All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes.”
“You are your mother’s trueborn son of Lannister.”
“Am I?” the dwarf replied, sardonic. “Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me,
andhe’s never been sure.”
“I don’t even know who my mother was,” Jon said.
“Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.” He favored Jon with a rueful grin.
“Remember this,boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.”
And with that he turned andsauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune73.
When he opened the door, the light from within threwhis shadow clear across the yard,
and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.