Osric returned through Winterfell's east gate with four tired mules, two damp bales, a leather case swollen with great names and a Lannister factor in a red cloak gone nearly black with rain.
The bay had lost a shoe on the kingsroad. Osric had led it through the last village to have another fitted; his knee was stiff from too many wet days in the saddle. Salt had dried white in the seams of his brown cloak. Southern sun had peeled his left cheek, and northern wind had reddened the new skin beneath.
The guards knew him. They did not know Master Crellan, his two red-cloaked men, the hired muleteers or the wicker cage of furious hens strapped behind the last saddle. The whole train waited beneath the arch while a boy ran for Vayon Poole. Bronze began to speak above them.
Pate the bellman stood beside the locked stair with both hands on his belt. The clock counted ten across the wet yard. Osric mouthed every number. Crellan joined him for the last three. "Still keeping good time, then," Osric said.
"This one has had an easier journey than yours," Eddard said, coming down the hall steps with Arthur. He had ridden ahead of the freight train and been home four days. Jon had already read the sealed confirmation of Salt Wraith's award with him; a copy was on its way to Ethan, with the claims still to be settled.
Osric slid from the saddle, landed badly and caught the pommel. His bay tried to bite a mule while he recovered. "Questions from court?" Poole asked as he arrived.
Osric tapped the leather case. "Four worth answering. Lord Tywin has sent a man to press his claim."
Crellan touched the iron-bound coffer carried by one of his men. "Lord Tywin's offer."
"Tomorrow," Eddard said. He looked at Osric's blue fingers and rain-filled boots. "Hot broth first. Dry clothes. The mules are rubbed down before any chest is opened."
Crellan inclined his hooded head. "I should be grateful for an early hearing, my lord."
"After breakfast tomorrow. Poole will find you a chamber."
The factor studied Eddard, then bowed. Osric sat later in the solar wearing Jory's spare cloak and holding a bowl between both hands. The broth was thick with barley, leeks and shreds of mutton. He drank until the shaking left his fingers. Luwin waited by the fire; Poole opened the freight account only after the bowl was empty. "These are the enquiries worth bringing home," Osric said, setting the letters down. "None is a paid order yet."
Poole looked over the parchment. "Winterfell advanced one hundred and eighty-four dragons for the royal clock's wood, iron, bronze and carriage. Osric's twelve for the damaged cloth must be charged to House Black as well."
"Jon has seen the account," Eddard said. "He knows what he owes."
"Salt Wraith brings him no income yet," Osric said. "We must find money for her repairs as well."
"Who asked for clocks?" Luwin said.
Osric spread four letters. Lord Tywin wanted first place and the secret of the making. Highgarden asked for a rose whose petals opened at dawn. Lord Arryn's man had brought measurements for the high road, but no authority to place an order. Wyman Manderly's servant had measured Merman's Court, its bell wall and the doors through which the case would have to pass.
"Which would you advise Jon to take first?" Eddard asked.
"Lord Wyman's. His man wanted to know how the bronze would stand up to salt air. He was satisfied with the answer."
Osric went on to describe what had happened beside the royal clock. Eddard's expression changed as he heard how Joffrey had ordered the hearth boy to strike the bell, then accused him of trying to break it.
"Was the boy punished?" he asked.
"No, my lord. The under-steward sent him to work at the outer hearth. I saw him before I left."
Eddard frowned. "The guard heard the prince give the order and still seized the boy?"
"Aye. He only admitted it when the under-steward questioned him."
Eddard questioned Osric further about the guard and the accusation. When he had finished, Poole drew Lord Tywin's letter from the others. "How much has Master Crellan offered?"
"Eight hundred dragons: three hundred now and five hundred when the bell rings."
Jon came when the letters had been put away. Osric rose, remembered his stiff knee and steadied himself against the table. Jon told him to sit and drew the next chair close. He wanted to hear how the movement had travelled, but Osric first brought out a little wrapped parcel from his case.
Inside lay a sugar stag no longer than Jon's thumb, with the ends of its antlers broken. The icing had dried as hard as chalk.
"From the prince's cake, my lord. The cook had others. I thought your sister might like to see the work."
Jon turned it carefully by the base. A fine seam showed where the body had been shaped in a mould; the antlers were separate pieces fastened afterwards. He could imagine Sansa's disappointment at the broken ends and Robb's indifference to anything which delayed eating it. "She will. Was the whole cake covered in these?"
Osric described the sugar trees, the spun nests and the crowned stag which Robert had nearly struck with his sleeve. Jon laughed, then asked about the keepers. The factor's account grew less polished as the room warmed him: one man had learned the winding at once, another needed the instructions read back, and the royal carpenter had wanted to see every joint before fixing the frame. Jon listened with his feet braced on the chair rung. When Osric came to the shifted wedge, he took up a scrap and drew a packing block that would stay clear of it.
Osric also told him of Wat, and of the place found for the boy away from Joffrey's hearth. Jon listened without laughing this time. Afterwards they went through the four enquiries. Lord Wyman's measurements lay ready to use; Jon told Osric to hold the next place for him while they settled the price and the size of the bell.
Jon left the Vale letter open. "Does this man serve Lord Arryn at court?"
"At the Eyrie, my lord. He carries letters for the steward."
"Did he speak of anyone in his lord's household in King's Landing?"
"Only Lord Arryn himself. We spoke of the stairs and the road."
Jon turned the letter over. "Send the answer to the steward, then. We need his lord's authority before we promise him a clock."
Wylla found them over the drawing later. She brought Osric another cup and took charge of the sugar stag, which had begun to shed crumbs onto the accounts. He had crossed half the realm with it, she said, and she would see that it survived until Sansa's breakfast.
Before bed Jon opened the black book at Lord Arryn's name and entered what Osric had told him. Eddard could carry a warning to his old friend; Jon had never doubted that. He needed someone near enough to Lysa to test what he remembered before an accusation brought questions he could not answer. This messenger knew the Eyrie's stair. Jon left room below the entry and locked the book away.
* * *
Next morning Jon watched Robb and Theon from the practice rail. Yesterday's nick at the bench had reopened on his sword grip; Arthur had taken the weapon when he saw the blood.
"You are following his sword," Jon called. "Make him come to you."
Robb stopped. Theon circled out of reach with his ash blade held easily before his shield.
"I can wait too."
"Then wait," Robb said, his point drooping.
Theon struck it. Robb caught the blow, pressed him back two steps behind his shield, then lost him on the turn. The ash blade touched his thigh.
"You nearly had me against the rail," Theon said, breathing hard. "Try it without your brother telling you next time."
He helped Jon show Robb the opening before Arthur sent them to put the swords away. They were still disputing the passes when Wylla stopped Jon to change his linen. The argument died outside the workshop: Master Crellan was waiting within.
"No filing until this has closed," she said.
Jon flexed his fingers once and let her retie the bandage. "I can leave that to Olyver today."
Master Crellan stood at the bench in dry crimson, the lion of Casterly Rock worked small in gold at his throat. His coffer rested beside a polished boot. He drew off his gloves and bowed as gravely to Jon as he had to Eddard. Eddard stood beside Poole at the end of the bench. Robb and Theon kept clear of the craftsmen while Arthur brought Jon forward.
Jon took his place beside the craftsmen. "What does Lord Tywin want besides a clock?"
Crellan opened the coffer and named a clock worthy of the Rock: a lion in gilded oak, a bell heard from the Lion's Mouth to the sea stairs and delivery before Lord Tywin's next nameday. A Lannisport smith would work beside Mikken and carry the making west, so the clock would not die if a northern boy took fever. Three hundred dragons would be paid at once, five hundred when the bell rang.
Poole's quill paused. Eight hundred dragons was a handsome price, even after the metal, the work and the journey west. The surplus could repay Winterfell and begin the work hall Jon wanted. Jon left the coffer untouched. The offer was familiar in everything but its coin. A rich customer wanted priority, the skilled men, and enough knowledge to dispense with the maker afterward. Jon had sat through versions of that bargain with drawings on a table and coffee going cold beside them. He knew which part Crellan had left unpriced.
"We cannot meet his nameday," Jon said. "Lord Manderly asked first. I am holding the next place while we settle his terms, and these men have Winterfell's work to finish."
"Three hundred dragons can hire more hands," Crellan answered.
"Men who know the work must teach them. That takes time." Jon drew Woods's case plan across the bench. "Your carvers may make the lion at the Rock. We will send the movement and its inner frame."
Crellan examined the drawing. "Our smith is to work beside yours."
"He may bring iron and forge rough blanks if Mikken tests his hand. The fine measures stay here. Your keeper learns to wind and mend his clock, not copy it."
Crellan looked at Jon's bandage. "Lord Tywin expects his grandchildren to use this clock. What if the only man who can make it dies?"
"Woods and Mikken can repair the movement. Your keeper will have spares and learn to fit them; for work beyond him, send to us." Jon put a finger on the bell. "Send the height and the passages it must be heard through. I will not promise one bell carries through the whole Rock."
Crellan turned to Eddard. "Lord Tywin does not commonly wait behind another purchaser."
"You came to bargain with Lord Black. You have heard his answer."
"After Manderly," Jon said. "When Mallon has the measurements, we will name a time the men can meet. The nameday is too soon."
Crellan closed the coffer. "I must carry that answer to Lord Tywin."
Robb watched the gold go. Once the factor was out of hearing, he leaned towards Jon. "Eight hundred."
"I heard him." Jon looked back at the drawing. He could have put three more benches in the room and paid men to use them. Tywin knew that as well as he did.
Theon had watched Crellan turn to Eddard more closely than he had watched the gold. He waited until Poole had followed the factor out.
"He thought Lord Stark would make you take it."
"Father left the choice to me," Jon said.
Theon looked towards the door. "Suppose he had ordered you to. Would you have given Crellan the patterns?"
"No. He may buy a clock. He does not buy the work of every man here with it."
"It is easy to refuse when Lord Stark lets you."
"He has refused me before."
Theon glanced at the clock behind its rail. "And look what you have now. I have been asking to go home since I came here."
Jon laid his sound hand upon the drawing. "If you mean to quarrel with Father, do it with Father."
"He is not so fond of my questions." Theon's smile had gone. Woods set his plane upon the bench behind them, and the older boy shifted aside to let him pass.
For a moment Jon thought he would leave with the carpenter. Instead Theon kept his hands clear of the rail and leaned to look at the drawing. "His lion had better be worth waiting for."
"His carvers can answer for the lion," Jon said, turning the sheet so both boys could see. "This is the part we have to make."
* * *
Crellan did not leave at once. Woods found him in the lower yard beside a wagon of split ash. He held a fine brass rule across both palms while Olyver ran one thumb along its markings. "Lannisport has benches under glass," Crellan said. "A clever hand need not spend his life beneath a roof that drips into a bucket."
Woods stopped beside them. Olyver looked up and returned the rule.
"My son is in Lord Black's service, Master Crellan."
"There was no harm in showing him better tools."
Woods took Olyver by the shoulder and led him inside. Jon heard of it when they brought the next set of blanks to the bench.
"Did he offer you work?" he asked.
Olyver's ears darkened. "He spoke of it, my lord. I said I had given you my oath."
"Good. If he asks again, send him to me." Jon picked up Woods's wooden rule from the chest and turned its worn edge towards the light. "You will have a brass one of your own when the Manderly clock is sold, and a stag for your part in the work."
Olyver looked quickly at his father, who nodded. He bent over the blank again. When the cut was finished, Woods carried it to the window himself, then laid it safely upon a clean cloth.
Crellan left at the eleventh hour. Before mounting, he gave Poole a sealed account of Lord Tywin's offer and House Black's refusal. He required Eddard's witness that he had not failed through neglect. Eddard pressed his direwolf beneath the factor's lion. "You carried your lord's words faithfully."
Crellan gathered his reins. Rain had ceased, but his red cloak remained dark along the hem. "Lord Tywin may ask King Robert for the making."
"I gave the king a clock," Jon said. "I made no promise to sell Lord Tywin the making."
Crellan looked towards Eddard, who offered no different answer.
Crellan's party rode beneath the gate. The coffer went in the middle beneath a waxed hide. Eddard had two horses saddled. Bucephalus danced when the last red cloak passed, but Jon's right hand could not safely correct a young stallion upon wet ground. "Leave the black in the yard," Jon told Hullen. "Saddle the dun garron with the broad back. My hand can guide him without a hard rein."
Arthur checked the garron's girth and mounted a grey mare. They rode south at a walk, with the knight a little behind. Jory followed with Stark guards, far enough back to leave father and son their conversation. Rain had filled the kingsroad's ruts; wet grass brushed the horses' fetlocks. Crellan's crimson cloak showed on the ridge ahead.
"He will approach the others," Jon said. "Mikken, Woods, Mallon. Olyver was only the first."
"Aye," Eddard said. "See that your men have reason to stay."
"Steady work, good wages and tools of their own. I cannot offer what I have not earned, but they will share in the clocks they make."
"Put your answer in writing as well. Tywin should hear the terms you refused, not a report that a boy laughed at his name."
"I will have Osric send it."
They reached the ridge while Crellan's party entered the next stand of pines. Wind shook water from the needles. Below them, Winterfell rose in wet shades of slate, smoke and old brown granite. The glass gardens caught one pale strip of sun; every other roof shed water in silver threads. Crellan's crimson showed brightly on the kingsroad until pine shadow swallowed it, while the coffer horse left deeper prints than the other mounts.
The dun stood quietly while Jon looked back at Winterfell. Eddard followed his gaze.
"You wanted that coffer."
"I wanted what I could build with it."
His father nodded. "There will be other buyers." He watched Jon settle the reins between his bandaged fingers. "I nearly answered for you when he spoke of fever."
"I heard him."
"You had an answer ready." Eddard looked towards the pines. "He has bargained for Tywin longer than you have been alive. I thought you would need more help."
"He wanted the patterns. I wanted to keep them."
His father considered him a moment longer, then reached across to free Jon's cloak from beneath the saddlebag strap. It had caught when he turned.
For a while they watched smoke drift over the castle roofs. Jon's old certainty about Eddard belonged to a book read years ago. He had not expected to know how the man sat a horse when he was tired, or the sound of his voice when he was trying to offer comfort.
Jon looked back at Winterfell. "If Tywin goes to Robert?"
"Then I will tell Robert what was given and what was not." Eddard gathered his reins. "Keep the offer and your answer together. I mean to have your terms before me if Tywin complains."
Eddard took the firmer path home beside the fields. At a gap in a low stone wall, a man rose to ask whether his son was giving satisfaction in the stables. Hullen had said nothing against him, he hastened to add. Eddard promised to ask. Jon watched water seep through the unfinished wall into yellowing barley.
"Does that patch drown every spring?"
"In a wet one, my lord. It dries before the rest is ready for cutting."
Jon pointed out to Arthur where a shallow drain might reach the roadside ditch. The knight asked where the water went after that. Jon followed the ditch towards the trees until the bend hid it; he would need to see the lower ground before drawing anything.
By the gate his thigh was stiff. Arthur took the reins while he dismounted onto the block. Inside, Wylla had set dry shoes by the fire. He changed before reaching for his letters.
* * *
They answered the four houses after supper.
Poole spread the four letters before them. Eddard, Catelyn, Luwin, Osric and the masters sat around the solar table. Jon's hand rested in warm salt water under Wylla's eye. Robb leaned over his shoulder until Catelyn sent him to fetch another candle.
Lord Wyman offered six hundred dragons: two hundred in earnest, the balance after seven days' true running in Merman's Court. His servant had measured the wall, old bell, narrowest door and steepest turn from quay to castle.
"He means to buy," Poole said.
They would supply the movement, bell and a trained keeper, bearing damage until Osric opened the cases with Wyman's steward at New Castle after carriage by road. Mallon's tin would serve only a smaller bell. Jon told him to reserve it and offer its measure; the greater must wait for another tin ship.
Highgarden would wait for a model of the moving petals, the Vale for its lord's authority. Osric wrote Jon's terms to Tywin. Jon kept all four letters together.
Poole turned his book. Jon put one black-stained nail beneath the proposed payment. "His earnest stays against his own clock. Pay for its metal, wages and carriage first. When the balance comes, Father gets his hundred and eighty-four, and Osric his twelve for the cloth, from what we have earned."
From the yard below came Heward's voice, followed by the flat crack of practice shields meeting together. No one at the table paused for it now. In the household's first weeks the sound had drawn servants to the windows; now it belonged to Winterfell as readily as Mikken's hammer and the measured beat from Pate's clock.
Robb cocked his head when Heward called a file back for a second attempt. "Tomas has them turning at the gate again."
Jon listened long enough to hear the order repeated. The second turn came cleaner. "Then he has them." He brought his attention back to Poole's figures.
"And the hall?" Robb asked.
"Draw it. We raise no wall until this clock is paid for and Father has his money."
Wylla could house six apprentices in the lower loft once its hearth flue was mended. Woods objected that it held offcuts and long boards with nowhere below to go. Jon gave him the empty lean-to and promised Poole's cart for the heavier pieces. They would look at the loft together tomorrow; six boys would do until another building stood.
Mikken wanted two who could be trusted with the bellows. Mallon wanted a lad who listened; Woods, one who could sharpen a tool without grinding away half the steel.
"Each spends time at every bench," Jon said. "I want to see where their hands are best."
"These boys will need the same care as your guards," Catelyn said. "You are taking them from their homes."
Wylla lifted Jon's hand from the salt water. "Enough bargaining."
"Enter Olyver's stag, Poole. I will finish with you at breakfast." The steward wrote while Wylla dried the cut.
Robb followed Jon into the passage carrying two wool balls. "Three turns of Gates before bed, and I keep the red."
"Three turns. The red is yours until it crosses a gate." Robb threw the ball at his head and ran.
* * *
By the time Catelyn called them to the family supper on the following evening, Three Gates had acquired a belt between two stools, one disputed kitchen arch and a rule Sansa insisted nobody had heard before she won by it. Theon had held the arch until a servant came through with the bread. He stood aside for her, and Sansa vanished beneath the nearest bench.
"You moved the gate," Jon accused Robb.
"Sansa moved them."
Sansa crawled out with both wool balls gathered in her skirts. "I won."
"Which colour?" Robb demanded.
"Both."
Theon bent to look beneath the bench. There was room for Sansa to crawl through, but not for him to follow. "That was not a gate when I took my place."
"It was when I went through." She held the balls out of Robb's reach.
Jon laughed. Robb went to appeal to their mother, who told him to put the stools back before supper. Theon took one end of the bench while Jon freed the caught belt. Sansa followed them to the table with both balls, declining every offer of another game until she had eaten.
The kitchen sent beef-and-barley stew, brown bread, roasted roots and a little dish of preserved cherries for Sansa. Bran slept against Catelyn's breast. Arya had one fist closed around her nurse's collar. Robb ate too quickly and burnt his tongue. Jon tested the knife once, found the wrap made the cut unsafe and passed it to Wylla. She divided the meat without comment and returned the trencher.
Theon sat opposite Robb and reached for the bread before the younger boy could take the last browned piece. Robb swallowed a mouthful of water and asked whether he meant to race when the visiting boys came.
"I mean to shoot," Theon said. "Hullen can keep his garrons."
"You ride one every day."
"Which is how I know them." He broke the bread. "There were lads shooting at the lower butts this afternoon. One of the Tallhart men put three together before I had loosed my second."
"Did you beat him?" Jon asked.
"No. I shall try him again." Theon reached across for the butter, then paused. "Will you come? You need not use that hand to watch."
"Tell me when you go. I can spare an afternoon."
"Bring Robb. He says every arrow I put near the middle was meant for somewhere else."
Robb began defending the accusation. Theon listened with the butter dish in his hand until Jon took it from him. He had eaten the bread while arguing and was reaching for another piece before Robb finished.
After the bowls were cleared, Sansa asked for the lantern maiden. "You asked three nights ago," Robb said.
"You asked for the black ship four nights running," Sansa reminded Robb. "The maiden has waited longer."
"The ship has battles, storms and men with axes."
"The maiden has hounds," Sansa said. "And it is my turn."
Catelyn allowed one song before bed.
The tale had grown over several evenings. A young woman carried one coal through woods where every road returned her to the same black gate. Old Nan had added hounds and oatcakes. Sansa gave the maiden a silver cloak. Robb insisted one captive be a robber. Jon sang quietly, changing a word where Sansa had objected before. At a turn of the melody, Eddard looked up. He had heard something like it beside Rhaegar's harp at Harrenhal. Fire caught the purple in Jon's eyes. "Again," Sansa demanded when the last note faded.
Eddard asked, "Who taught you that tune?"
Robb stopped shifting beneath the table. Jon's wrapped hand closed upon the bench, while Arthur went still beside the door. "No one," Jon said. "I remembered a little. The rest changed."
"Did you dream it?" Robb asked.
"Perhaps. I remember the tune more clearly than the place where I first heard it."
Sansa took Jon's good hand. "You must sing it when Willam Dustin comes. His singer knows only sad marches."
"Keep this one for the family," Eddard said, too quickly.
Jon looked up from Sansa's hand. Eddard was still watching him, and Arthur had set his cup down without drinking.
"Was the song so bad?" Jon asked.
"No," Eddard said. "Another time. I am tired."
Catelyn moved the plate of cherries towards Sansa and called the nurse. "You have had your song. Off to bed, all of you." She waited until Jon rose before letting the nurse shepherd the children out. Theon retrieved the wool balls from Sansa's chair and went ahead with Robb, still talking about the butts. Their voices faded up the stair before Catelyn turned back to Eddard.
In the passage Sansa tugged his hand. "You may sing it to me tomorrow."
"If you learn the words."
"I know the best ones." She began the verse about the silver cloak and put three words in the wrong places. Jon corrected the first; she sang the others louder.
Behind them, Catelyn stayed by the fire. "You frightened him, Ned."
"Part of the tune. Rhaegar played something like it at Harrenhal."
"Arthur may have played it to him." She looked towards the passage. "Speak to Jon in the morning, Ned. He thinks you are angry with him."
Next morning Eddard found Jon and Poole comparing the cost of the royal and Manderly clocks. Winterfell's advance still stood unpaid in the book, the Manderly money only promised.
"I frightened you last night."
Jon looked up. Poole gathered his quills and excused himself.
When they were alone, Eddard sat beside him. "The tune reminded me of someone who died in the war. I should not have questioned you like that before the others."
"Someone you fought?" Jon asked.
"Prince Rhaegar. I heard him play at Harrenhal."
"Did Arthur hear him too?"
"Often. He served him." Eddard glanced towards the closed door. "There are men who would hear that music from you and make a quarrel of it. Keep the tune for Sansa."
"Shall I teach her another?" Jon asked.
"You need not." Eddard laid a hand over Jon's wrapped fingers. "I am sorry I spoke sharply."
Jon turned his hand beneath Eddard's and held on. There was one man he could speak plainly to, and he meant to find him that evening. From the eastern gate came the warning wheel's faint run. Robb shouted something about Three Gates in the yard. Poole returned with a raven strip. White wax bore the merman of White Harbor. Lord Wyman accepted the smaller sound bell, the earnest and the joint opening at New Castle. Two hundred gold dragons would ride north beneath guard. Jon read the strip twice.
Jon set the raven strip beside Poole's book. "Tell Mallon the bell is ordered. Woods can begin the dry fitting. I want the masters here at noon."
Poole reached for his quill. Eddard's hand still covered Jon's; he gave it a last squeeze before standing. Jon let him go, then read Lord Wyman's acceptance once more.
* * *
Arthur came after Wylla had taken away the supper tray. Eddard had gone to his solar with the steward. Jon was waiting beside the hearth.
"Close the door, Uncle. I need to speak with you."
Arthur looked at him before obeying. He waited until Wylla's footsteps had passed the stair, then unfastened Dawn's harness and set the sheathed blade beside his chair.
"Your hand?"
"No." Jon kept his voice low. "My name is Aemon Targaryen. Rhaegar was my father. Lyanna Stark was my mother."
Arthur's hand remained upon the harness. His pale eyes stayed on Jon, his lips slightly parted. Then he crossed to the door, listened, and came back without taking his chair.
"Who told you?"
"Dragon dreams."
"Did Ned speak to you?"
"Only about the song. He has told me nothing of my birth."
Arthur drew the chair nearer and sat, bringing his face level with Jon's. "Tell me what you saw."
"The room was hot. There was a brazier burning, though the sun was still on the wall. She could not lift me. Father had to hold my head."
Jon remembered the blood-wet linen and the voice he had tried to turn towards. He let Arthur see the effort of speaking about it. The years before that room would remain his own.
"She asked him for a promise," Jon went on. "As Ned. Not as Lord Stark, or Robert's friend."
Arthur's fingers tightened upon the chair arm. "What did she ask of me?"
"You had promised Rhaegar. She made you promise her as well."
"Where did I put my hand?"
"Across my feet. You gave me your sword, your honour and every day left to you."
Arthur looked down at his hands. Jon waited, then laid his sound hand upon the knight's wrist. "You have kept your word."
"Aemon," Arthur said at last. He spoke it so quietly that Jon scarcely heard. "She named you for the maester at the Wall."
"Because he chose to serve when he might have been king."
Arthur shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was looking at Jon as though he had only just come into the room.
"Did the man beneath the tree tell you?"
"No." That much was true. Jon left his hand where it was.
"Has he shown you more of this?"
"He is not in all my dreams." Jon could have filled the silence with explanations. He let it last until Arthur looked towards the fire.
"I have heard of such dreams," the knight said. "I have never known what to trust in them."
"Then tell me where I am wrong."
Arthur looked back at him. "You are Rhaegar's son. Lyanna was your mother. Everything you have told me of that room happened as you said."
Jon sat beside him. He had known, yet hearing Arthur confirm it left him quiet. Eddard had carried him out of that room and been his father ever since.
"He took me north as his own son."
"He had promised your mother."
"He has done more than he promised her," Jon said. "I know he loves me. I will not make him sorry he brought me home." He took his hand from the knight's wrist.
A log had burned through in the hearth. Arthur worked the fallen ends together with the poker, then returned it to its stand. He stayed in the nearer chair.
"And Ashara?"
"My sister lost her child before we reached Starfall. She died soon afterwards. We used the gossip about her and Ned to explain your birth. Lord Ulrick agreed."
"You let the world call me her son."
"It gave Ned a reason to keep you, and me a reason to remain at his side. It also left you believing my sister was your mother." Arthur met his eyes. "I have been asking Ned to tell you for years."
"I want you to tell me what you know. The dreams have not shown me everything."
Arthur named the men who had stood with them at the tower. Howland kept the papers; Arthur kept the key. There were men living who could speak to what they had seen, though not every man had witnessed the marriage itself. Jon listened without interrupting until the knight spoke of the vows on the Isle of Faces.
"Rhaegar was already married."
"To Elia of Dorne," Arthur said. "He took a second wife. He believed the vows binding. I stood witness."
"Would the High Septon agree?"
Arthur did not answer at once. "I cannot speak for him. There are lords who would call you lawful if it served them and bastard if it did not. We kept the proof. We cannot make men honour it."
"Is that why Father hid me?"
"Robert would have killed you for being Rhaegar's son. He would not have troubled himself over which vows I witnessed."
Arthur's voice had grown quieter. "Ned saw what was done to Elia's children. Robert accepted Tywin's allegiance afterwards. Your father brought you north rather than put you into his hands."
"Aegon and Rhaenys." Jon knew their names, but saying them here made them different from names in a history.
Arthur nodded. "Your brother and sister. They were very small."
Jon asked what had happened. Arthur answered without giving him the worst of the injuries. He named Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch, and said whose men they were. Once he stopped to master his voice. He had known the children before there was anything to mourn.
"Are there any others?" Jon asked.
"Your uncle Viserys and aunt Daenerys. Ser Willem Darry took them east from Dragonstone; Queen Rhaella died when Daenerys was born. We hear late, conflicting reports of where they are staying. Ethan has men asking, and I will tell you what they learn."
"And if you find them?"
"Then we learn how they live and who holds them. I cannot promise to bring them here. Nor may you write of this to anyone."
"Not even Robb?"
"Not Robb, not Sansa, not Lady Catelyn. They cannot betray what they have never been told."
Jon looked towards the closed door. Beyond it lay the rooms where they slept, where someone would wake Sansa if the stair creaked too loudly, where Robb would come in the morning expecting him to be the same brother. He meant to be.
"Does Wylla know?"
"She put you into Lyanna's arms."
Jon watched the low fire. There was much he had learned from books which he could not yet trust here, and much Arthur could answer without ever learning where his questions began.
"Father must not know that I know."
Arthur turned towards him. "He should hear it from you. If he learns we kept this from him, he may think I have turned you against him."
"He is my father. Nothing you have told me changes that. Keeping this from him is my choice, and I will answer for it." Jon let the words settle before going on. "But not yet. He could scarcely hear a song without fearing what it meant. Let him believe I am learning to be Lord of Dragonstone. That is true enough." He met the knight's eyes. "When I have questions about my parents, I will come to you."
"About either of them," Arthur said. "What I know, I will tell you. What I did not see, I will not pretend to have seen."
"And this stays between us?"
Arthur looked down at his hands, then back to Jon. "Neither Ned nor anyone else will hear it from me. But if one of these dreams puts you in danger, you must tell me."
"I will tell you what I can."
The knight glanced towards the sheathed sword beside his chair. "Learning to rule Dragonstone is well enough. It need not be the limit of what you inherit."
Jon held his gaze. "Viserys lives."
"Rhaegar was the elder brother. His son has the prior claim." Arthur spoke carefully. "There may come a time when you must consider it."
Jon looked towards the door. Eddard had helped put Robert on that throne. Beyond the sea, two of his kin lived under other men's roofs, while the men who had killed the others slept safely in the west.
"I will not give you an answer tonight."
"I ask for none." Arthur rose and took up Dawn. He drew the blade low, clear of Jon and the chair, and set the empty sheath against the wall. Then he went to one knee, offering the sword across both palms with its hilt towards Jon.
"Prince Aemon, I renew my oath to you as your Kingsguard. My sword and my life are yours. I will guard your person, keep your counsel, defend your rights, and give you the truth even when it displeases you."
Jon rested his left hand upon the hilt. Arthur bore the blade's weight. Men had looked to Jon for orders long before Winterfell, and some had died carrying them out. He would be taking responsibility for this man's life along with his service.
"I accept, Ser Arthur. I will hear your counsel. When we act, the choice will be mine."
"Aye, my prince."
"Rise, then. And before Father, I am still Jon."
Arthur stood, sheathed Dawn and set it beside the chair. His hands were steady now.
Before Arthur could lift the harness, Jon stopped him. "I shall still call him Father."
"I would not ask you to stop." Arthur left Dawn beside the chair and went to find more wood.
Eddard looked in later, after the steward had gone to bed. Jon left the hearth to meet him. His father put an arm around him and asked whether his hand hurt.
"A little." Jon held to the rough wool. "I wanted to say goodnight."
Eddard bent his head against Jon's hair. He stayed until the boy was settled. Jon watched him go without asking about Rhaegar.