Chapter 29 - The Second Harvest

The next morning, the new bell sounded as Willam Dustin's stallion picked a dry path through barley carts. The horse raised its head. Men paused with pavilion ropes in their fists; a cook leaned from an awning, flour to his elbows. By the ditch, a girl held coloured ribbons above the mud and counted the notes.

"That is not Winterfell's bell," Mark Ryswell said after the second.

Barbrey sat tall and straight beside him, a brown braid against her wine-dark hood. Rain had blackened the hem of her divided skirts. She turned towards Mark. "It comes from Jon's yard." Seven strokes crossed Winter Town.

"Is that what we have bought?" Willam asked.

"Something smaller, I hope." Barbrey listened until the last note faded.

Willam turned in the saddle to look at the children. Their daughter Marna rode a shaggy pony between two Dustin guards. She had Barbrey's dark eyes and brown hair, though the hair was braided with yellow ribbon and the eyes were busy searching the receiving stair. Her yellow cloak lay rolled behind the saddle because she had declared the morning too warm for it. Her brother Roderick ignored her from the back of the scarred bay he had praised in every letter north, with one white eye, one chewed ear and a mouth already wet around the bit.

"Nine," Marna said. "I heard nine."

"Seven," her father told her. "The sound comes back from the walls."

Marna looked towards the nearest tower, listening for another. The long summer had brought another harvest and another court, larger than the first. Fires smoked beside both ditches. Mountain riders led strings of hairy ponies between grain wagons. White Harbor merchants had rented every dry doorway. Pavilions crowded the outer wall in russet, green, brown, pale blue and wool dyed so cheaply purple that rain had turned it pink. Lesser sons argued over beds while kitchen women argued over firewood. A factor had hung painted clock faces above his stall. Their hands all showed different hours.

"That man says Lord Jon made them," Mark observed.

Barbrey glanced once. "I should ask him before paying for one." Behind the market stood the Black Yard's timber halls, two smoking kitchens, roofed work court, stable, barracks and Ewan's forge. Its plain black banner hung dark with rain. Twenty-five riders came through beneath Tomas's raised fist, four files halting clear of a brewer's broken cart. At the earlier harvest the captain had been narrow-shouldered in a patched cloak. Now the grey braid lay across a man's shoulder. Good bread had covered the other boys' sharp wrists too; they sat their rough northern horses without hanging upon the reins or turning to admire the watching lords. Jon followed on his black stallion, the silver clasp of his black cloak above cloth wetted by the mane. Arthur rode a dappled grey at his right, Dawn's pale hilt above his shoulder. Jon waited for Tomas to clear the gate before dismounting.

Willam dismounted with care, gave his reins to a groom and opened his arms. "At last, someone in Winterfell who has changed."

Jon embraced him. The boy had grown high enough to strike Willam's shoulder instead of his ribs. "Roderick has found a bigger horse, too."

Roderick stroked the white-eyed bay. "Neither of you has asked to see him move."

"He tried to bite the groom," Jon said.

"He requires a firm hand and a rider who does not fear a little spirit," Roderick insisted.

"He requires another owner," Barbrey replied. "Your hand has failed."

"Try him, then," Roderick said to Jon. "He threw one of our grooms yesterday."

Arthur looked at the horse, then at the churned road and hanging awnings. "In the yard. There are too many people here."

Marna opened both hands to show six pebbles. "Six stones on Jon."

"Whose stones have you wagered against my horse this time?" Roderick demanded, already knowing the answer.

"Yours." In the field beside the Black Yard, Hewyn's first fifty drilled that morning in black coats behind broad shields. Their first rank cast weighted ash at wicker, withdrew, and reached for long spears while the second rank covered them. Three shafts struck early. One fell short. A shield rose late and knocked against the shaft of the man beside it. Laughter came from the rail.

Hewyn walked to the late shield and set its rim two handbreadths left. "Farther left. You nearly struck the man beside you." The man corrected his stance. A young decanus started to shout at the outer rank, stopped himself, and crossed to speak close instead. Hewyn passed behind without interfering.

"How long have those soldiers served beneath the black cloth?" Mark asked as the late shield returned to place.

A brewer beside the rail answered with the confidence of a man who had heard from someone else. "They came in with the last muster, my lord."

"They cast like new men," Mark said. "Half the shafts quarrelled before reaching the wicker."

"They recover better than many levies after five moons," Willam replied. On the next cast, the shafts struck in two ragged beats but none crossed another file. The second rank covered before the first reached the rack. The rail grew quieter.

Jon came beside them. "They are Hewyn's first company. The others train at the Old Watch."

"How many others?" Mark asked.

"Five companies. Three hundred men altogether."

Mark looked towards the road to the Old Watch. "I thought your father had lent you those guards to keep order among the workmen."

"He did. These men are mine."

"And you keep them after the harvest?" Barbrey asked.

"They are paid throughout the year."

She looked from the drilled fifty to the roofs beyond them. Willam knew that look; she had given it to their steward when he first named the price of the clock. Mark was still watching the field.

"Eight," he said to Willam, too quietly for Jon to hear over the hammer. "My father would not let me choose my own horse at eight."

Willam glanced towards the busy gate. He remembered helping Ned carry this boy out of a tower. "Nor mine," he said.

A hammer rang from the forge, followed by another. Barbrey turned towards the roof. "How do you hear yourself think?"

"I usually go uphill." Jon led them towards the work hall.

Willam looked towards the new roof. "Show us what we bought before my wife begins sending some of it back."

The Dustin clock waited beneath the work-hall roof, its movement enclosed in polished black oak. Twelve bronze studs marked the face. The case stood inside a travelling cradle lined with grey felt.

William smoothed the felt beneath the case and stood aside as Willam approached.

Willam looked at the apprentice. "Your name?"

"William, my lord."

Willam smiled. "My mother spared me the second i."

"So did Master Woods until I learnt my letters." The apprentice coloured, but Willam laughed and waved him back to his work.

Woods waited beyond the cradle while Barbrey walked around the case. She opened both lower doors, examined the joinery and listened when the bell struck.

"Adequate," she said.

Woods glanced at Jon, uncertain whether that was approval.

"She means she likes it," he told the carpenter. "You may send the bill."

Woods bowed. "The chamber wall must take felt and timber before you set the case, my lady. The bell carries through stone."

"Will we hear it from our chamber?" Barbrey asked.

"The lining will soften it, my lady. William will try it when he sets the clock," Woods said.

She closed the little door. "Send it when the road dries. I have waited long enough. I will not lose it to a careless carter."

"I shall go with it, my lady," William said. "We will have it striking before I leave Barrow Hall."

"Show my steward how to stop it at night."

"There is a lever inside the case. I can show you now."

"Later. Leave it striking while we are here."

Willam thanked the apprentice and turned to Jon.

On their way through the work hall, a woman stopped Jon to ask for a letter from her son in White Harbor. Perkin kept the letters; Jon would look after dinner. She touched his sleeve, then remembered his guests and curtsied. Jon introduced her as one of the women who had sewn the clock's travelling covers. Barbrey asked whether the felt kept out road dust, and Willam waited while they spoke. Before they left, Maege Mormont's mud-spattered outrider announced the Bear Island party less than a mile away. A page brought word of Theo Wull and nine mountain ponies on the west road.

"Tell Arya," Jon said. "She has been waiting for them since dawn."

Marna sent word to Sansa that she had arrived and asked after the Manderly girls. They were already with Sansa at Winterfell; Arya waited at the gate with Jory. Jon sent the page to Septa Mordane, then rode uphill with the Dustins to greet the newcomers. The horse trial waited while Maege rode into Winterfell at the head of twelve islanders, stout in patched ringmail with grey threading her braid.

Dacey dismounted behind her, lean and long-legged, taller than the groom she shyly thanked. She helped Jorelle from a smaller pony while a groom lifted Lyanna from the pillion. Arya ran to embrace her, and Lyra had to call them clear of the horses.

Three short-handled axes rode behind Lyra's saddle. When she dismounted, Arya brought Jory and Lyanna to see them. Lyra crouched and uncovered the polished hafts, keeping the leather over the edges.

"You said you would bring them."

"I did. You can watch me throw tomorrow."

"I want to try."

"We shall find you something you can lift first," Dacey said. She led the little girls towards the keep, Arya looking back at the bundle.

Eddard walked down at a lord's pace and clasped Maege's forearm. She had watched Hewyn's ragged spear ranks as she rode through Winter Town. Theo announced himself with laughter before the mountain ponies reached the yard. He caught Jon by both shoulders and scowled.

"Too tall by half and still too solemn," Theo said, looking him over.

"You should have come yesterday. Robb put me in the mud twice."

Theo cuffed him lightly. "An army and still no beard. The gods are cruel."

Jon grinned and caught Theo's wrist before he could cuff him again. "Robb would be pleased to put you in the mud as well."

"He will need help," Theo said. "He can have Mark."

"Leave me out of it," Mark said. "I have come to eat."

Eddard laughed as he came to greet them. The bay jerked against his lead. Ralf caught the bridle before the horse could swing into Willam's bad leg. He ran a hand beneath the saddlecloth, then began unbuckling the bit.

"He fights this," he said, showing Jon the heavy curb.

"Put the plain one on him." Jon handed his cloak to Arthur. "And shorten the leathers."

Roderick followed them into the yard. At the horse block Jon greeted Harl Wull, Brandon Norrey and Edrik Flint, their ponies already with Theo's. He pointed Edrik towards the games ground beyond the wall, then mounted. The three joined Robb at the rail. Gawen cleared two boys from the gate and guarded it himself; Arthur stayed near the block.

The bay sidled at once. Jon settled into the saddle with one hand in the mane and let him walk. Roderick had held the reins tight on the road; Jon's hands were lower, the leather slackening whenever the horse stopped tossing his head. They passed Willam once, then again. The bay was beginning to lengthen his stride when a shout rose from the market beyond the wall.

He reared. Willam gripped his stick, suddenly aware of how small Jon looked above the horse's shoulders. Arthur was already moving along the rail. Jon bent forward, his black hair falling across his face, and kept his hands clear of the bay's mouth. The forefeet struck the mud. Before Willam had drawn breath, the horse kicked up behind and lunged towards the gate.

Gawen stepped aside. Jon turned the bay along the fence, taking him past the closed gate and into the length of the yard. Mud flew from his heels. For a few strides Willam thought he would bolt through the men at the far end, but Jon brought him round before he reached them. The gallop shortened to a trot. At the next turn they were walking.

No one at the rail spoke. Jon kept the bay moving until his head lowered and the reins hung loose again. When he stopped beside Ralf, the horse stood while he dismounted.

Roderick let out a breath. "He threw Harrold with less than that."

"He tried hard enough," Jon said. He rubbed the bay's damp neck. "Leave him with us while you are here. Gawen can ride him tomorrow."

"I brought him for the race."

"You will ride the roan," Willam said.

Roderick glanced at his mother. She was watching Jon shake the mud from his sleeve. "You heard your father."

Jon turned to Gawen. "Use this bit. He went well enough before the noise."

"Aye, my lord." Gawen took the reins while Ralf loosened the girth. The bay followed him towards the stable, ears moving at the voices behind him.

Arthur handed Jon his cloak. "Hurt?"

"Only my knees." Jon bent one, then the other, and brushed the wet hair from his eyes. The pale lock at his left temple had come loose from its thong. "I shall feel it tomorrow."

Marna held out her hand to Roderick. "Six."

"Those were my stones you wagered."

She kept her hand out. Roderick dug into his purse and dropped six more pebbles into it. Willam looked away before his son could catch him smiling.

* * *

By the time Willam and Barbrey came down, the benches nearest the hearths were full. Wet riding cloaks had given way to best wool and silver clasps. Green boughs bound the pillars beneath the visiting banners; above the high seat, the grey direwolf spread across white cloth.

Outside, spits turned over the yard fires. Servants carried broken loaves and a steaming pot to the tables beneath the awnings and the people eating along the wall. Willam caught roast meat, damp stone and sweet applewood smoke. A piper among the wagons played fast enough to set the serving boys running to his tune.

Barbrey stopped him before he took his place.

"Your clasp."

He looked down. One end of the little gold chain had caught beneath his collar. She freed it with a practised finger, settled the black crown upon his breast and turned to greet her father.

Barbrey's father had saved her a seat below the dais. Mark sat opposite, talking horses with Medger Cerwyn. Halys Hornwood, still helping Lady Donella out of a cloak a servant mostly held, beckoned Willam to hear about a stag.

"Let him sit first," Barbrey said. "He has heard about nothing but horses since dawn. Give him time to swallow something before you begin upon deer."

Halys promised to save the best part. Willam eased his bad leg beneath the table and found a cushion at his back. Catelyn caught his eye from beside the Tallharts and nodded. Amid the crowded hall, she seemed to know exactly who had found a place and who still wanted a familiar face.

Theo Wull found Willam before the first dish did. His blue cloak was checked in grey and white about the edge, its clasp worked in the shape of one of his house's buckets. He laid it over a bench and brought a spare, bearded man forward by the elbow.

"You remember the Norrey."

"Brandon." Willam rose far enough to clasp the offered hand. "You have come a long road."

"And found three of my neighbours here before me." Norrey glanced towards the lower end of the table, where a Burley was already breaking bread. "I should have left when the oats were cut."

"You stayed to see them threshed as well," Theo said. He took the place beside Mark and stretched his legs. "His folk would sooner finish a field than begin a feast."

Norrey sat opposite him. "Some of us finish both."

They washed while the servants set out bread, salt and butter. On the dais Catelyn touched Robb's shoulder and he turned from Harrion to sit straight. Sansa needed no reminder; her silver clasp, no larger than Willam's thumbnail, shone against blue wool. Beside Arthur, Jon wore his usual black, but the fine cloth fitted close over narrow shoulders. His hair was drawn back, the white lock bright whenever he turned towards the candles.

Eddard rose before the dishes were uncovered. The fiddles fell quiet. Men near the doors passed the silence back through the hall until the sound of the yard piper could be heard quite plainly.

"My lords. My ladies. Friends." He rested one hand beside his cup. "We have brought in another good harvest. I have ridden through full fields this summer, and heard the same news from many of you. The gods have been generous to us."

Willam looked along the faces turned towards the high seat. Some of these men had eaten at Rickard Stark's table. Others had first come to Winterfell as boys in their fathers' company and now had children waiting beside them. Eddard knew most of them by name. He let his gaze travel the length of the hall before going on.

"You have brought your sons and daughters a long way to be here. My wife and I are glad to welcome them. There is food and ale in the yards for those who came with you, and the kitchens will keep serving while any guest remains hungry."

Greatjon struck the table once with the heel of his hand. Several men answered him. Eddard waited with the beginning of a smile.

"Tomorrow evening, I ask the lords and the clan chiefs to join me in my solar. There are matters we should speak of while we are gathered." His eyes went to Benjen, seated in black near the end of the dais. His brother gave a small nod. "The Night's Watch has sent us news, and I would have you hear it."

Willam saw Norrey lower his cup without drinking. The man exchanged a glance with Theo, then looked back towards Eddard. Benjen had come south for more than his brother's hospitality, that much was plain. The talk could wait until they were alone with him.

Eddard lifted his cup. "For now, I thank you for coming. May your households prosper, and may we share many more harvests. To the North."

"To the North!"

The answer filled the rafters. Willam drank with the rest. Beside him Barbrey raised her cup towards her sister's son at the Bolton table. Domeric saw her and returned the salute rather gravely before Smalljon leaned across to say something that made him smile.

The covers came off the dishes. Aurochs, blackened at the edges and red where the carvers cut into it, went past on a great wooden platter. There was venison in a thick sauce of onions and wine, turnips shining with butter, little pies that released the smell of pepper when a knife broke their crusts. Willam took a rib and a spoonful of the onions baked whole in their skins. Barbrey cut into a trout scattered with green herbs. Across from them Mark was already pressing the bread into the meat juices.

Wyman Manderly had sent jars of pickled cockles and smoked fish from White Harbor. He watched Norrey try one of the cockles, his pale eyes bright above the white beard he had tucked into his cloth.

"Well?"

Norrey chewed, swallowed, and looked into the jar. "A long road for something so small."

"The vinegar makes the journey with it," Wyman said. He offered the jar to Theo, who took three at once. "My cook swears they are best with ale. I have yet to persuade him that wine will serve."

"The cook is right," Theo said after trying them.

"Then you must come to White Harbor and tell him. He is a lonely man among so many drinkers of wine."

Wyman told them how his granddaughters' carriage had sunk to its hub on the river road, within sight of an inn. Norrey heard with satisfaction how a team had to be fetched through the rain. Mountain men, he said, knew better than to take a wheeled house uphill.

"My wife expects no such thing," Willam said.

"I expect a horse that stands still while I mount." Barbrey looked towards Roderick. Her father followed the glance and told the boy to bring the bay to him before they left.

"After Jon's riding master has ridden him," Willam said.

"A man can buy a horse without all his kin riding it." Roderick picked up his knife. Marna laughed, and Barbrey passed him the venison.

At the next table Galbart and Helman argued over the driest road from Torrhen's Square. Halys left his stag to trace a third route with a crust, until Medger reminded them that its bridge had been mended. The men leaned nearer to hear him. Willam ate through roads, a Rills marriage, hunting hounds and a cousin's quarrel that had sent him to the Watch. Halys eventually returned to his stag.

Theo had news of Ethan as well. A letter had reached him before he left home. He drew it from inside his coat, still folded in its worn cover, and passed it to Willam below the level of the dishes.

"The sea has not drowned him yet."

"He means to ruin my eyes instead." Willam held the page nearer a candle. Ethan had crowded the last lines up the margin. He wanted news of the families and asked whether Martyn's old shoulder still troubled him. Willam read that part aloud, and Martyn, who had come down from the high table with Jon and Arthur, reached over his shoulder for the letter.

"It never troubled me half as much as his complaining."

Arthur smiled as Martyn turned the page in search of the beginning. For a little while the talk stayed with Ethan and the letters that had crossed the length of the kingdom. Jon listened with his hand resting upon the back of Willam's chair, and asked to read the letter when the others had finished.

"You have had three from him since I had one," Theo told him.

"He sends me harbour accounts."

"This one is chiefly about your roofs." Willam gave it to him. "Apparently he means to have you dry when you arrive."

Jon read the cramped last lines. "I shall thank him. He has found room to complain about my writing too."

"There is little wrong with your writing," Arthur said. "You give him too much of it."

Jon's mouth bent. He folded the letter carefully and returned it to Theo before sitting in the place Martyn made for him. A servant brought a clean trencher. Willam cut a fresh piece from the aurochs and put it on it.

"Eat before Halys gets you started upon the stag."

"He has already told me," Jon said. "Twice."

"Then you can tell your men where to find its brother," Halys answered readily. "Come to the Hornwood when you have finished with all this building. Bring Robb. My son could do with company that doesn't agree with everything he says."

Daryn heard his father and said that his friends knew when he was right. Halys looked delighted to have proved his point. Lady Donella gave the boy a little smile and moved the salt within his reach.

As hunger eased, Catelyn and Donella went to the mountain women, while Eddard and Benjen joined Helman at the Glover table. Farther down, one black brother taught a boy a trick with a sliver of wood. Tomas sat at the head of the household table, Olyver laughing beside him; beyond them Hewyn's new spearmen glanced towards the high tables between watching for the next dish.

Wylla stood beside their serving table with a basket under one arm. She caught Jon looking and lifted it enough for him to see the little blackberry tarts inside. He picked up his trencher, excused himself and went down to her. Willam saw her inspect his trencher, say something close to his ear, and give him a tart. When he came back he had brought two. He put the second before Barbrey.

"Marna says you like these."

"Marna has been asking me for another since the first course." Barbrey broke it and offered Willam half. "She seems to have found a better table."

Their daughter was at Sansa's side, where a space had been made between the Manderly sisters. The girls had been watching the musicians for some time. Now servants were taking away two narrow trestles and carrying the empty benches to the wall. Sansa rose as soon as the floor was clear, only to sit again when Catelyn looked towards her. Marna caught her hand beneath the table.

The boys were no less watchful. Daryn Hornwood had abandoned a story about his father's hounds halfway through it. Cley Cerwyn was rubbing a spot from one boot with the heel of the other. Near the pillar, Theon adjusted the clasp at his throat and pushed his dark hair back. He caught Robb watching him and stopped.

"Your collar is straight," Robb said.

"I know." Theon glanced towards the girls again. "Look at your own."

Robb's grin broadened. Then Alys Karstark looked his way, and he found something to say to Jon.

The fiddler tried a few notes. Beside him a woman in a russet dress plucked her harp, bending close to listen before tightening a string. The yard pipes sounded faintly through the doors, quicker and rougher than the measure beginning in the hall.

Eddard offered Catelyn his hand. She rose, smoothing the folds of her dark blue gown. For the first few steps they had the floor to themselves. She lifted her face to his, candlelight catching her high cheekbones as he turned her. Willam remembered a younger Ned who would gladly have found some pressing duty in the yard when the music began.

"He still counts," Barbrey murmured.

Eddard's lips moved once. Catelyn said something to him, and he laughed. Wyman Manderly bowed to Lady Donella; she touched her husband's sleeve before accepting. Other couples followed them out, wool and velvet brushing as they passed between the benches.

Harrion brought Dacey down from Maege's side, then stepped aside when a young knight asked her to dance. She smiled shyly and took his hand at once. Maege had spent the greetings presenting her heir to men who remembered a child. In her green dress she looked tall and slender; with her hair loose, her long face seemed softer than it had above her mail that morning.

"You had only to ask," Smalljon told Harrion as he came back.

Harrion took his cup from the table. "I was speaking to her."

Smalljon looked towards the dancers. Harrion gave him a shove before he could say anything else.

When the musicians began a quicker tune, Sansa came straight to Jon.

"Will you dance with us?"

He set down his cup. "Gladly."

Marna followed her, but stopped beside Barbrey to smooth her skirts. Her mother freed a yellow ribbon caught beneath her sash. Across the table, Wynafryd Manderly had risen with her younger sister. Wylla was tugging at her hand to make her hurry.

"You will miss it," Barbrey told Marna.

"I know." Yet she stayed until Jon turned and offered his other hand. Then she went so quickly that her ribbon slipped loose.

The girls took Jon towards the floor. Sansa's auburn hair shone against her blue dress; beside her, his own lay black as ink over the high collar of his coat. Wylla Manderly reached up to touch the white lock at his temple, stopped short of it, and put her hand behind her back. Jon bent to hear what she asked. Whatever his answer, it brought her nearer, looking up at him with a smile. A serving woman stepped back to let the children pass. Willam watched Jon make room for each girl, the candlelight catching his fine straight nose and the clear colour of his eyes. "He will turn heads," the serving woman murmured to a man passing with bread. "He does that with a wooden sword," the man answered. Jon caught the woman's eye as he passed and thanked her for finding Sansa's ribbon earlier. She smiled, then curtsied.

Robb had crossed to Alys. He bowed as carefully as his father had, and she stood before he had finished asking. Both paused, uncertain what came next, until Robb offered his hand. Alys took it. Her narrow face was pink above the white sunbursts at her collar. She glanced back once towards Lord Rickard, then hurried to keep beside Robb as they joined the others.

Torrhen Karstark leaned over his brother Eddard to watch them. Harrion caught the back of Torrhen's collar and pulled him down before Alys could see.

Theon lingered beside Willam's table, pretending to listen to Roderick. A Flint girl stood nearby with her sister, turning a blue glass bead upon the cord at her neck. She had thick brown braids and a little gap between her front teeth. Each time Theon looked over, she looked away.

Roderick nudged him. Theon elbowed him back, but went to her.

"Lady Erena. Will you dance?"

She glanced at her sister, who immediately found reason to turn towards the hearth. Erena's fingers left the bead. "Yes, thank you."

Theon had his hand out before she finished. They set off on opposite sides of a bench, stopped, and came round the same end. Erena laughed a little. Theon's ears reddened beneath his hair, but his grin returned when she took his arm. Roderick watched them go with his mouth open, as if he had not expected his advice to work.

"And you?" Barbrey asked Roderick. "You have been waiting since the floor was cleared."

He looked towards a Norrey girl in red wool. "What is her name?"

"Anya," Willam supplied. "You shared a pie with her this afternoon."

"We did not talk much." He left before his mother could answer. Anya nodded to his invitation; one of her two cousins hid a smile as they passed.

The dancers formed two lines. Older sisters made room for little ones, and boys who had shouted over supper stood straight beneath embroidered collars. Sansa watched the opposite girl for the first turn and knew the second herself. Marna laughed when Jon brought her round to face her parents.

Cley listened while Wylla Manderly explained something—then waited, hand still offered, when she turned the wrong way. Farther down, Benfred Tallhart bent to hear the softly spoken Ryswell girl instead of filling the hall with his own voice. Lyra unwound Arya from her skirt without leaving the measure; Jorelle drew Lyanna round beside them. Dacey passed with the knight, light-footed and certain. Maege watched her daughters over her cup.

When the music ended, Willam made room for Sansa, Marna and Wynafryd. Barbrey moved the candle clear of their sleeves and called for watered wine.

"Did you see Cley? He waited for me," Wylla Manderly told her sister.

"We all saw." Wynafryd's eyes strayed towards Daryn at the edge of the floor. He was looking at her; she bent over her cup before he could smile.

Marna leaned close to Sansa. Her whisper carried across Willam's sleeve.

"Your brother has such pretty eyes."

Sansa looked at Robb, who was coming towards them with Alys.

"Jon," Marna whispered.

"They look purple near the candles," Sansa told her. "Come nearer next time."

"Sansa." Marna's whisper was urgent now. Jon was returning with Theon.

Barbrey lowered her cup. Willam kept his eyes upon the dancers still leaving the floor. He had no wish to make his daughter hide behind her mother for the rest of the evening.

"You are still counting the steps," Theon said as they approached.

"Erena had to steer you round a bench," Jon answered.

"She seemed pleased to have hold of me." Theon's grin widened.

Willam watched Jon join them, smiling, without a trace of his usual dust, charcoal or dried mud. Wylla stood beside the serving table, pleased with her work.

Marna put down her cup with both hands. "Could we dance again?"

"Of course." Jon offered his hand.

"I meant to ask—" Wynafryd began.

"The dance after?" Jon asked. She nodded, and Daryn finally came to claim this one. His shoulders eased when she smiled and took his arm. Sansa watched them with satisfaction until Domeric asked her. She rose at once and gave him her practised curtsey.

"I know this dance."

"So do I." His smile made her lift her chin as they found their places.

Harrion had reached Dacey before anyone else this time. He gave Smalljon a look as they passed; Smalljon raised both hands, grinning, then beat Benfred to Jorelle. He asked properly and took her hand with unexpected care. Theon returned to Erena by the correct end of the bench. Anya drew Roderick back from the doorway when the first notes sounded.

The slower measure carried them past Willam's table. Marna watched Jon's feet until they came level with her father, then looked up. "Your bell rang nine times this morning."

"Seven," Jon said.

"Father said that too. I counted nine."

"You heard it come back from the walls."

"Then I shall stand in your yard next time." Marna followed him through the next turn without looking down.

Robb and Alys followed, concentrating until she looked up and made him smile. Cley danced with a mountain girl; Lyra settled Arya beside Maege before accepting Benfred. Daryn said something that made Wynafryd glance towards Halys. Willam could see the stag story coming round again.

At the change of tune Wynafryd claimed her promised dance without prompting. Marna let Jon go reluctantly, then took Torrhen's hand with Barbrey's nod.

"She has remembered her manners," Barbrey said.

Willam watched Roderick fetch a cup for Anya. "So has he."

"For tonight."

When Domeric brought out his harp, Sansa drew Marna and Wynafryd onto the nearest bench. She inspected the silver waves on Wynafryd's cuff and secured a promise to learn the stitch after breakfast. Wylla showed them her own crooked attempt; their heads stayed together until Barbrey reminded them to listen. Theon stood beside Erena, while Daryn and Cley sat on the hearth edge. Roderick's heel tapped to the first notes before he remembered he was pretending not to care.

Willam could see Domeric's resemblance to his mother when he bent over the strings. Roose came to stand behind him and said nothing during the playing. When the tune ended he laid a hand briefly upon his son's shoulder. The boy looked up, then towards the girls clapping beside Barbrey. His smile lingered as he settled the harp again.

Barbrey asked for another, but Theo had already begun singing the final verse again. Greatjon joined him from three places away. By the last line half the table was singing, some keeping the tune and others trusting that enough ale would carry them through it.

Jon returned from speaking with Galbart about the roof beyond the smithy. Its rafters were on; boards would go down tomorrow to shelter the case finishers and Woods's new apprentices.

"Woods should have asked for twice the floor," Wyman said. "A merchant in my hall last moon forgot the ship he had come about when I showed him my clock. He had spoken of nothing but Leyton Hightower's."

"Did he remember his ship before paying for another?" Barbrey asked.

"He ordered one through Jon's factor next morning. Some men would sooner be seen without a horse than without what their neighbour has bought."

"They must wait with the lords," Jon said. "No poor movement will leave here inside a good case."

"Put mine after Lord Halys's, then," Galbart said. "Helman and I left our earnest this morning. Hornwood has chosen its case?"

"And sent its measures first," Jon said. "William will write when yours is ready."

"Some grow tired of waiting," Wyman said. He set down his cup. "Lord Walder's steward has asked me to carry an offer. He would give you a yard at the Twins, freedom for your carts at his crossing, and a portion of the price of every clock sold there."

"Who would teach them?" Jon asked.

"You would send two of your best hands, with the patterns. He wants the right to make and sell."

Galbart looked towards Jon. The conversations nearest them had begun to slow.

"My men have work here," Jon said. "If Lord Walder wishes to buy clocks for his towers, Osric will send the terms. His keepers will have the same instruction as yours."

"There is more. His steward suggests that a granddaughter's marriage portion could settle matters between your houses."

Jon put down his knife. "Did he name her?"

"He offered to send a list."

Barbrey looked across the hall at the girls gathered beside Sansa. "Does he send the same list with every bargain?"

"I did not ask," Wyman said. "What answer shall I carry?"

"The making remains with my house. And he may address any marriage proposal to my father, apart from the price of a workshop." Jon glanced towards Eddard, still speaking with Benjen and Helman, then took up his knife again. "I thank you for bringing it yourself, my lord."

Wyman turned to Galbart about a ship overdue from the west. Jon finished his tart while they compared sailing dates.

Greatjon had been looking towards the table where Jon's household sat. Tomas and several of the younger guards had stood to make room for a late dish, and their shoulders were level for a moment above the seated men.

"Those are the boys you mean to take south?" he asked.

"My household," Jon said.

"I saw them riding through the town. They sit their horses well." The praise came easily, but Greatjon's eyes had gone to his own son. "Have you set any of them against a lad who was born with a sword in his hand?"

Roose drew his chair nearer the table. "They are a credit to their coats. I had wondered how they would fare against someone they do not practise with."

"Then tomorrow will interest you," Jon said. "There is room after the other games."

"Put your best against Smalljon," Greatjon said. His son straightened at the sound of his name. "We shall see what your teaching has done."

Willam looked down the hall. Tomas had noticed that his lord was being watched, although the words could not have reached him through the noise. He waited at the end of his table. Around him the others continued eating and talking.

"Your son has had a master-at-arms since he could hold a wooden sword," Jon said. "So have Robb and most of the heirs here. One of my men against him would be a good bout. It would tell you little about the company I have trained."

"A company, then," Greatjon said. "You have boys enough."

"Let them fight the heirs together," Jon said. He looked towards Eddard, who had come back with Benjen and Helman. "Equal sides. Shields and ash swords. A banner at each end of the south meadow, and the first company to carry the other banner home wins."

"I will lead the heirs," Robb said. "Will you lead yours?"

"Yes." Jon watched him turn to Eddard. Smalljon was already whispering to Harrion, Cley leaning over the table, Theon smiling as though he had seen an opening.

"Ser Rodrik will prepare the field," Eddard said. "Arthur and Martyn judge, with Jory's men to help. You obey them."

"We will," Robb said.

"After the midday meal," Jon said. "Let them finish the other games first."

Mark asked whether the Dustins could make a third side; Barbrey told him to let the boys choose these two. Willam found himself looking forward to it.

Maege put down her cup. "Lyra will fight with the heirs."

Greatjon looked at the girl beside Arya, then back at her mother. "You mean to set your daughter in the middle of that?"

"I mean to let her use what she has been taught." Maege turned to Robb. "Will you have her?"

"She is already in," Robb said. Lyra grinned. Smalljon began to object to something Harrion had said about his shield, and Greatjon left the matter of daughters to demand what the two boys were arguing over.

Over the next cheese and bread, Robb gathered Domeric, Theon and Harrion to choose the rest: Daryn, Roderick, Lyra, Cley, Brandon Norrey, Edrik Flint and Harl Wull, with a Burley boy beckoned from his father's side. Medger had to tell Cley to let his captain finish before asking again about the banner.

Jon called Tomas over. "The full household in the south meadow after dinner tomorrow. Lord Robb and the heirs."

Tomas bowed, exchanged a nod with Theon's raised cup, and went to his file leaders.

Greatjon offered a cask of ale on the heirs. Theo wanted to know which ale before committing himself, and Norrey offered to drink it first and settle the question. The wagers spread as the serving women cut the cheese. Lord Ryswell called Mark back to hear the terms; Wyman asked whether he might back a side even if his granddaughters disapproved. Sansa announced that she would cheer for Jon, then saw Robb looking and added that she would cheer for him in the morning.

"You can cheer for both," Jon told her.

"Not when you fight each other."

"You managed it in the yard last week."

"That was different." She went to Marna before either brother could ask her why. The girls had decided to wear their ribbons to the games, and Wylla Manderly was trying to persuade her sister to lend her the blue one.

Jon went to hear what Robb's new company was boasting. Robb lowered his voice until he left them to it. While Greatjon drew the other men into his wager, Maege took the place beside Eddard. Arthur remained at his shoulder. Willam heard her ask when Jon would return from Dragonstone.

"He means to take up his seat," Eddard said. "Winterfell will still see him."

"And his wife, when he has one?"

Eddard turned towards her. Across the table Jorelle was trying to persuade Lyra to leave the boys to their battle plans.

"She has years before she must leave my hall," Maege said, following his glance. "I should like to know something of the hall she might go to."

"You are speaking of Jorelle."

"I am. I have no great chest of gold to put beside her, but she will not come friendless. Our people know ships and hard coasts. There are men on Bear Island with no holding for a second son, and your lad has work enough for them." Her voice stayed low beneath the quarrel over the ale. "I should like to see her keep a hall of her own, with her sisters welcome at its table. It would do both our islands good."

"The Mormonts are a loyal house," Eddard said. "There is good blood on both sides. It could be a good match."

Arthur looked at him sharply.

"I ask for a hearing, Ned. We need promise nothing over supper."

Jon returned to fetch his cup. Maege made room for him without breaking off. "Your father and I have been speaking of my daughter, Lord Jon."

Jorelle had heard her name. She came nearer, uncertain which of them to address. Jon drew out the vacant chair beside him.

"Will you join us for the next dance, my lady?"

"If Smalljon leaves my feet alone."

"He will be at the other end of the line. I shall put myself between you if he comes this way."

She laughed and sat. Maege watched him move the hot cheese dish clear of her sleeve before turning back to Eddard.

"We will speak," Eddard said.

Arthur's hand remained upon Eddard's chair while Maege thanked her host. Willam waited for the wine servant to pass before taking his cup. Theo rose when the fiddler lifted his bow.

"Give us something we can dance to up a hill."

"You have danced to that one for thirty years," Mark said.

"And I mean to finish learning it." Theo fetched a mountain woman who promptly took charge of his turns. Shoes struck the flagstones together; Greatjon sang above the fiddles, answered by men beside the low yard fires.

Dacey had accepted another dance from the young knight. Her skirts swept past Willam's knee as they joined the line. He watched them complete the turn, set his cup upon the table, and offered Barbrey his hand.

"Will your leg bear it?" Barbrey asked.

"For one dance."

She rose and took his hand. He had to keep his steps short, and she matched him without comment. Across the line, Sansa drew Jon beside Marna, Jorelle and Wylla Manderly. Arya caught Lyra's hand and hurried to keep up with her. Smalljon turned too soon and collided with Robb; both boys laughed and found their places again. Bran tried to follow beneath the linked arms until Catelyn lifted him clear.

Willam watched Jon miss a step, recover and smile at Sansa. The boy laughed more readily among them than he had on his arrival that morning. Near the hearth, Mordane spoke to the linen woman, who had paused to watch. The woman curtsied, took up her empty jug, then called encouragement to Sansa when the line came round again. Willam nearly missed his own turn and felt Barbrey's fingers tighten around his.

"Watch where you put your feet," she said softly. He obeyed. Across the floor, Eddard caught Theo by the wrist and drew him into the reel. Mark and Martyn seized Arthur. For one noisy circuit, the six men in the hall who had ridden from the tower moved beneath Winterfell's rafters, children weaving between them, alive where they had once expected graves. When the music ended, Willam stayed beside the floor to watch his friends try to persuade Arthur into another dance.

"You have looked at those men all day," she said.

"Theo is difficult to overlook while standing still and impossible once someone begins a song."

"Do not make a fool of me, Willam. You have watched the other four whenever the laughter eased."

He watched Jon crouch to hear Bran's solemn account of a stolen tart. "We nearly lost all this."

Barbrey knew the dead who had not been brought north, though not every truth. "Yet here they are. Loud enough to trouble the living." Greatjon roared with laughter at that moment. Willam lifted his cup to him.

* * *

When the last guests began leaving the hall, Eddard asked Jon to come upstairs. Arthur followed them into the solar and closed the door. The noise of the feast dwindled to a murmur beneath the floor.

"Lady Maege is not a woman to make an offer lightly," Eddard said. "Nor would I dismiss her daughter lightly."

"No one has dismissed her daughter," Arthur said. "There will be no betrothal."

"You might allow Jon to sit before settling his marriage."

Jon took the chair beside the hearth. "What did you tell her, Father?"

"That I would hear her. The Mormonts are loyal, and Jorelle is well brought up. A good match deserves consideration."

Arthur remained standing. "His fortunes have scarcely begun to change. You have seen the letters asking for his work. Give it a few years and the fathers of those houses will be asking the same question as Maege."

"And would a girl with a richer father make a better wife?"

"It might give Jon allies who could do more for him."

"Maege has never withheld her help when I needed it."

Jon looked from one to the other. "I would hear what she wants for her people. We can employ men without marrying their lord's daughter. I like Jorelle. I have never thought of marrying her."

"There would be time to know more," Eddard said.

"Then leave me that time. I have not yet set foot on my own island. I do not want to promise what sort of life a wife would find there."

Arthur drew the other chair out, but did not sit. "Tell Maege he is too young for an undertaking of this kind. Let her daughter enjoy the rest of her visit."

Eddard's eyes rested upon him before returning to Jon. "No promise will be made. I will speak to her myself."

"Thank you, Father."

"Go to bed. You will be wanted early." He waited until Jon rose, then drew him close enough to kiss his brow. "Lady Jorelle must hear no unkindness from this."

"She will hear none from me."

Jon went out. Arthur stayed beside the empty chair until the footsteps had faded along the gallery. Eddard went to the door and closed it.

"A good match," Arthur said. "For Lord Stark's bastard."

"Choose your words."

"I have chosen them all evening. You know whose son he is. He could marry into a house with the strength to put thousands behind him. You offer to hear a match that would bring him a few boats and men who already answer to you."

"Maege would be his kin. She would not betray him."

"To whom?" Arthur asked. "Robert?"

Eddard's mouth tightened. He lifted the wine jug, found it empty and set it down again.

"You fear what a greater marriage might give him," Arthur said. "Is that why this one pleased you?"

"I would have him live long enough to marry. I would have him know his children."

"And remain harmless enough for your king to permit both."

"I have promised him nothing." Eddard faced him. "Do not mistake what I promised my sister for a wish to see the realm bury another generation."

Arthur took his hand from the chair. "Nor mistake my agreement to hide him for consent to keep him beneath the men who should bow to him."

"You will not arrange a marriage behind my back."

"I will bring an offer to you. I will not consent merely because you approve it." Arthur opened the door and left.

* * *

Jon was waiting in his own room. Wylla had gone to settle the younger children; he had asked her to leave the lamp. Arthur closed the door and crossed to the hearth.

"He called it a good match twice," he said. "He knows what she can bring you. He knows how little it would change."

Jon poured water into the empty cup beside him. "Sit down."

Arthur took the cup, but remained standing. "You think I have made too much of it."

"I think he loves Robert. That has not changed because I am growing."

"It should change what he is willing to give away."

"He lost his father and his brother to Aerys. Then he lost my mother. Robert was his friend before any of it." Jon waited until Arthur looked at him. "Aerys called for Robert's head as well. What were they meant to do? Wait to be strangled or burnt?"

Arthur set the cup down. "The king gave them cause. I know that."

"So does Father. He can love me and still fear what you hope I will become."

"He would choose your life for you."

"And I have told him what I will not promise." Jon leaned back in the chair. "He wants this to end with everyone he loves alive. I understand that wish."

Arthur sat at last. For a little while they could hear someone laughing in the yard below. Then Jon raised his head. The softness had gone from his face; his purple eyes held Arthur's.

"Aegon was a babe. Rhaenys was a child. Whatever our father did, neither of them had done it."

"No."

"Clegane and Lorch murdered them. Tywin offered their bodies to Robert, and Robert accepted them. I might have been laid beside them if the wrong man had found us." His hand closed upon the chair arm. "Viserys and Daenerys are somewhere across the sea, and we cannot even tell them where it is safe to come. That is what they have left of our family."

Arthur bowed his head. "I ought to have been in King's Landing."

"You kept me alive," Jon said. "I will not forget that. Father may choose to forgive Robert. I cannot forgive the men who murdered children and called it service. My brother and sister must be avenged."

Arthur looked up. Jon had not raised his voice.

"Then keep the freedom to choose your allies."

"I mean to. Help me build something they can trust, and find out where my kin have gone."

He had no intention of letting Walder Frey marry into those works. Jon remembered the welcome given to Starks at the Twins; he would pay the toll and choose another place to sleep. Wyman could carry back a price for a finished clock and leave the rest unanswered.

Arthur drank the water. His shoulders eased as he set the cup down.

"Father will speak to Maege," Jon said. "Let him do it."

Arthur nodded. At the door he stopped.

"Willam had word of the boy at the mill. Ramsay. His mother says he is Roose's. Money comes from the Dreadfort for his keep."

Jon straightened in his chair. "Has Domeric been to see him?"

"Not that Willam's man has heard. Domeric returns to the Vale after the gathering."

"Let me know if that changes."

"I will." Arthur's hand remained upon the door. "You remembered the name plainly."

Jon said nothing. After a moment Arthur wished him good night and went out.

When he was alone, Jon opened the black book at the Bolton names. He entered Willam's report beneath the old account: a boy at the mill, money from the Dreadfort, no word yet of Roose visiting him. He wrote Domeric's intended return to the Vale separately. An intention could change; he had just asked Arthur to tell him if it did.

He left the remembered death where it stood. Beside it, in the firmer hand these years of writing had given him, he put the name of the man now making inquiries. At the earlier harvest he had scarcely been able to get his questions beyond his own room. This time someone would bring him an answer.

* * *

The games began the next morning in the damp field below Winterfell. Robb caught Harrion Karstark's sword on his shield and struck him across the ribs. Harrion seized the shield rim as Martyn called him out.

"He still has hold of me," Robb protested.

"Let go, Harrion." Martyn stepped between them. "Robb, back to your place." The boys separated. Theon won his bout against Daryn Hornwood with a quick thrust that caught the Hornwood beneath his raised arm.

"Again?" Theon asked, as Daryn lowered his sword.

"After the other bouts. I know what to watch for now."

Theon grinned and passed his weapon to the next boy. Daryn stayed beside the rope to watch. Arya called Jon's name when he entered against Roderick Dustin. Roderick was taller, heavier and plainly eager to recover some of the pride he had lost over the bay.

"You will not find this as easy as riding," Roderick said.

Jon raised his shield. Roderick came straight at him, driving hard enough to make him yield the centre. Jon let him take another step, turned outside the heavy rim and laid his ash blade across Roderick's back.

"Out," Jory called. Roderick looked towards his mother.

She shook her head. He lowered his sword and left the field. Smalljon called for Jon next, but Ser Rodrik put a Burley boy before him. Smalljon knocked the other shield high on their first exchange. While he watched it fall, the Burley struck him across the side.

"Smalljon Umber, dead," Martyn called. Greatjon laughed until he bent over the rail. The last boys' bout put Robb opposite Jon. They had fought with ash since both could close their hands around it. Robb had punished the small dip in Jon's shield often enough to know it. Jon had learned how Robb liked to make his fourth blow answer his first.

"You always wait for the fourth," Robb said.

"Then try something else."

At the signal, Robb gave him three familiar strokes, then drove in behind his shield. Jon was already lifting his sword for the expected fourth cut. His boot slipped in the wet grass as their shields met; his knee struck the ground and Robb's padded point touched his shoulder.

"Jon Black, out," Martyn called. Jon lowered his sword.

Robb offered his hand. Jon took it and rose with mud across one knee.

"You were still waiting for the sword," Robb said.

"I was."

"Try tomorrow."

Sansa came with a cloth. Jon took it, wiped his hands and passed it to Robb, who had mud down his cheek.

Theon asked whether either of them had left any mud in the field. Robb flicked the wet cloth at him and missed.

Arthur brushed a smear from the back of Jon's collar. "How are your knees?"

"Sore." Jon watched Martyn fetch another sword from the rack. "Is he finally going to ask you?"

Martyn heard him. "A duel is owed." He stepped inside the rope while Smalljon began shouting for the grown men.

"Ser Arthur?"

Arthur unbuckled Dawn. "I have been waiting."

Martyn rolled his shoulders as he watched Arthur take the pale sword to Eddard. Jon moved closer to the rope. He had seen both men teach for years and rarely seen them face one another.

Eddard received Dawn across his palms. Arthur chose an ash sword from the rack and tried its balance. Martyn saluted him with his own.

"First to two clean touches," Rodrik called. "No head or hand. I will not send either man to Luwin because children wanted a song." Martyn kept the centre. Arthur offered angles and empty ground, drawing him into each change of measure. On the first pass Martyn cut for the ribs and changed high. Arthur slipped outside and touched his sleeve.

"Dayne." The second pass began more slowly. Arthur left his blade late between them. Martyn refused the offered body. He struck the blade just above Arthur's hilt and crowded shoulder to shoulder. A turn of the hips sent Arthur's ash sword spinning. Martyn's point stopped at his ribs.

"Cassel." The field erupted. Smalljon climbed the fence. Greatjon dragged him down without ceasing to shout.

Arthur retrieved the fallen sword and smiled at Martyn.

"You have been practising that."

"On Jory." On the last pass Martyn tried to close again. Arthur let their blades bind, shifted his grip and stepped inside Martyn's defence. His point touched the centre of Martyn's chest.

"Dayne." Jon saw another field for a heartbeat: red stone, hard sun, Martyn dead in dust, Arthur's white cloak bloodied in the sand, Eddard riding north with names instead of men. The remembered deaths had once been more certain than the laughing men before him. Arthur crossed to Eddard. Their eyes met over Dawn. Eddard's right hand had closed so tightly around the grip that the knuckles showed white. He returned the sword without a word. Martyn embraced Arthur. Mark reached them first, followed by Theo and Willam, all three talking over one another. Eddard stood outside the laughter for one breath, then clasped Martyn's shoulder. Jon took up a spare sword and tried Martyn's bind against Tomas beside the rope. Tomas struck him beneath the ribs.

"Again," Jon said. Tomas reset his shield. This time Jon got the bind but could not turn the blade before Tomas recovered.

Robb sat on the rail to watch. "You will be here all morning."

"Only until I have it."

"You said that about the last one," Theon said, and went to fetch his bow. The bowmen had the far field before the sun climbed over the east wall. Rain still darkened the butts. Daryn Hornwood put his last shaft a thumb from the centre peg. Theon waited for the rag above the target to fall still, drew and split a pale shaving from the peg. He lowered the bow with his arm trembling and a grin he made no effort to hide.

Daryn brought the arrows back and handed Theon his.

"A good shot."

"Better than yours."

"Today." Daryn took his place for the next round. Theon was still smiling when he followed.

Lyra knelt beside Arya with the smallest bow from Farlen's rack. She steadied it while Arya drew, her little face lengthening with effort until Jon saw Father's look of concentration beneath the untidy dark hair. Three arrows reached the straw; one caught the edge of a painted ring. Arya turned at once to show Dacey, who had waited behind the line.

"I hit it."

"I saw." Dacey bent to free a loose strand of hair from the bowstring before Lyra took the bow away. Arya stayed close to them while the older girl chose her own.

Sansa watched from beside Marna, blue ribbon looped over her fingers. The two girls had wagered upon Theon and Daryn; Marna surrendered a yellow ribbon with a sigh, then held it against Sansa's sleeve to see how the colours went together. Wynafryd fastened the slipping end while Wylla Manderly called for Lyra to shoot. Lyra's two green-fletched shafts landed close enough that their feathers brushed. Arya clapped hardest.

At the rail, Sansa was trying to decide whose colours would look best on a horse. The Hornwood orange, she told Marna, would show wonderfully against a black coat; the grey of Winterfell was handsome close by but vanished in a crowd. Wynafryd disagreed about the grey and pointed to Robb, whose white wool caught the sunlight whenever he moved.

"You can know a rider before you see his face," Sansa said. "That is what I like. All the colours coming towards you, and everyone knowing his name."

Arya had returned with Lyra. "I like it when they fall off."

"You would." Sansa turned the yellow ribbon between her fingers. "A knight may break his neck."

"Not if he falls properly. Ser Gawen said so."

"He said he would teach you to fall," Lyra corrected. "Not that horses will always put you down gently."

Arya looked annoyed by the distinction. Sansa took the chance to draw Marna's attention to Daryn's embroidered collar. It was fine work; the leaves ran beneath the fastening without losing their shape.

"Perhaps you can marry the collar," Arya said.

"Perhaps you can go and roll in the mud until someone mistakes you for a pig."

Marna made a small, shocked sound. Arya's ears reddened. She snatched a loose rush from the ground and tickled the back of Sansa's neck with it. Sansa jerked, struck Wynafryd's hand and sent the ribbon fluttering beyond the rope.

"Give it back."

Arya had already ducked under the rail. She caught the cloth before a passing boot reached it, but Sansa took it from her without thanks.

"You are not sitting by me at supper."

"I did not want to." Arya went to Lyra's other side. She stayed there for the next round, cheering twice as loudly as anyone when Sansa's chosen bowman missed.

Theo Wull took a bow after Lyra and put his first arrow well outside hers. Greatjon jeered from the rail. Theo handed him the bow, and his own second shaft was forgotten when the larger man fared no better. The horse race followed the dry rise beyond Winter Town. Robb rode a rangy chestnut against Domeric's grey, a long-legged Dustin roan beneath Roderick, and six other northern horses. The white-eyed bay remained in the Black Yard's inner ring with Gawen's groom and no crowd at the rail. Jon stayed at the race rail beside Gawen, his knees still sore from the bay. Roderick led the first half but took the turn wide and lost three lengths. Domeric slipped inside. Robb waited until the last rising ground before letting the chestnut stretch, then won by a head. Domeric leaned from his grey to clasp Robb's forearm before either mount had blown itself quiet. Roderick came in behind Domeric. He dismounted without looking towards his sister while Ralf took the sweating roan.

"You went wide," Domeric told him as he dismounted.

"The bay turns faster."

"We will work the bay before you leave," Gawen said. "Today you had to judge the roan." By midday the wrestling ground had become brown paste. Smalljon carried a Burley three strides towards the rope while the boy clung around his middle; both went out together and landed hard enough to paint their backs in mud. Rodrik made them begin again. On the second grip Smalljon set his feet, turned his hip and dropped the Burley within the rope. Greatjon ran onto the field, lifted his son and nearly fell beneath their joined weight.

"Leave him breath for the next bout," Maege called.

"He has won it," Greatjon said, setting Smalljon down. His son shoved a muddy hand through his hair, grinning at the boys beyond the rope.

They ate at the meadow edge before the mock battle. Elspeth's beef-and-onion pies vanished before the second basket arrived. Boys compared bruises and pressed them to see which hurt most. Wylla put a pie, an apple and a cup of watered ale before Jon. He broke the crust while it was hot.

"Is that the first you have eaten since dawn?" she asked.

"No. Ralf brought bread to the yard."

She sat beside him while he ate. Pepper and sweet onion warmed his mouth. Across the trestle, Robb was trying to find space for Smalljon on a bench already full of his chosen band.

"Domeric has the banner?" Jon asked.

"He does," Robb said. "You will find out the rest soon enough."

Theon reached across for Jon's apple. Wylla caught his wrist.

"There are more in the basket."

He fetched one for himself and brought her another. She accepted it without giving him the praise he seemed to expect.

Robb was still making room on the bench when Jon noticed the swelling beneath his sleeve.

"Let Luwin see that before the field."

"It is only a bruise." Robb pulled the sleeve lower.

"Then he will tell you so."

Theon snorted into his apple. "Gods, let him eat. Lord Stark is sitting over there. He does not need another father at this table."

"I would rather he could hold his shield."

"So would I. He has put me on his left." Theon nudged Robb's elbow. "Show the maester. Then neither of them can keep asking."

Robb gave both of them a resentful look and went to where Luwin was washing his hands. Jon watched him lift the sleeve. The maester turned the arm, pressed the swelling and sent him back with no more than an instruction to come back if it stiffened.

"There," Robb said as he reclaimed his seat.

Theon leaned back to let him pass. "You may grow up now, Jon. Your son has survived."

Jon had been reaching to move the cup from Robb's returning elbow. He left it where it was and took another bite of pie. Theon saw the checked movement and grinned.

"Come closer," Robb told Theon. "I want to tell you where Smalljon is going."

"Straight at whoever looks biggest. I have watched him before."

"Not if he does as I ask. Listen." Robb caught his sleeve to draw him nearer. Theon shifted his cup clear of the younger boy's elbow and leaned across the table. Smalljon bent in from the other side. Whatever Robb said made Theon shake his head, but he stayed close, answering too quietly for Jon to hear. Jon finished his pie while the three argued.

* * *

After the midday meal, Ser Rodrik emptied the south meadow and measured the starting ropes himself. House Black's plain banner stood at the north. The grey direwolf marked the south. Twenty-five heirs, wards and Winterfell boys formed behind Robb. Jon's twenty-five household guards faced them across churned grass. The crowd stood three deep beyond the side ropes. Lords climbed benches; townsmen filled wagon beds. The fifty spearmen of First Century remained in their own field in five tens. Less than a moon under black cloth had not made them proven men, and Hewyn would not let cheers persuade them otherwise.

Rodrik walked the ground between both bands. "Bring the enemy banner across your own rope and you win. When a marshal ties white upon your arm, leave at once. When the horn sounds, stop." Arthur and Martyn carried white staffs on opposite sides. Jory and five guards waited to pull marked boys clear.

Tomas set Jorren's file on the left and Rylas's beside the reeds. Gage stayed with the banner; Olyver's six waited behind the centre. Jon walked the short distance between them, checking the gaps. The northern end was firmer underfoot. Robb would have to cross the wet middle to reach it.

"Let them come to us," Jon told the file leaders. "Give a little at the first clash, then hold. Gage, keep four with the banner whatever happens."

He turned to Tomas. "When they leave an opening, take Jorren and Rylas through it. Olyver will cover the gap behind you."

"And the reeds?" Rylas asked.

"Watch for Theon. If he comes through, pass him to Gage before you follow Tomas." Jon raised his sword so every file could see. "If I am put out, obey your captain."

The horn blew. Robb crossed the wet centre at once. Smalljon's wing pulled ahead of Harrion on the left, leaving a gap between them. Rylas held his place beside the reeds. Jon saw Robb glance towards Theon, who was hidden by the taller growth, then call his centre to slow.

Jorren yielded two paces. Olyver bent his outer pair without committing the rest. Rylas gave ground towards the runnel. Theon burst from the reeds with five shields, driving towards the road an eager file would have opened. Rylas met his first two; Gage turned another pair from the pole. Leather boomed. Theon slipped around the first rim and struck a household boy through the ribs. Jory tied white upon him before he finished swearing. Gage caught a Cerwyn youth upon the upper arm. Martyn marked the Cerwyn youth and waved him towards the rope.

"Their middle is open," Tomas called.

The grey banner stood behind Domeric, Lyra Mormont and four younger heirs. Harrion had followed Jorren too far west; Smalljon was still driving towards the runnel. Jon raised his sword. "Now, Tomas!"

Tomas struck Jorren's shield with his own and called Rylas from the reeds. Olyver moved before the gap fully opened, six reserve shields filling the middle in one turn. Rylas handed Theon to Gage's outer pair and went south. Padded ash hammered shields. Olyver struck Cley across the ribs and took Cley's blade beneath his arm before he recovered.

"Both dead," Martyn called. Cley lowered his weapon and looked ready to dispute which blow landed first. Lord Cerwyn pointed towards the rope. Cley left.

Two black files drove south with Tomas. Jon kept Olyver's remaining men between Robb and the pole while Gage held four close and two against Theon's raid. Robb saw the division and attacked before Tomas reached the middle.

"Smalljon, break their right!" Robb shouted. "Theon hold their left. Do not enter until their middle turns." Smalljon drove one shield into the boy behind it and pushed both through mud. Olyver's file bent without breaking. Its right pair gave one pace; the centre closed behind them as they had drilled. Theon darted around Rylas's marked man, but Gage's outer shields caught him short of the pole. Robb entered behind Smalljon with his shield high and sword low.

Jon met him at the inner join. Smalljon still seemed bound against the outer pair. Robb cut high. Jon caught the blow square, kept his feet out of the mud Robb had used that morning and watched the sword. Then Smalljon tore free and struck the rim beside him at the same instant Robb drove shoulder and shield through the opening. Jon's young weight could not hold both. He turned enough to keep his knee beneath him, but Robb's padded point slid under his raised arm.

Martyn's staff struck earth. "Jon Black, dead."

"Clean," Jon said. He handed his sword and shield to Jory and crossed the nearest rope. He stayed beside the rope without calling to the men still fighting. Robb and Smalljon drove against the remaining centre while Theon forced Gage's outer pair inward. Two of Olyver's surviving men saw the breach and ran towards the middle.

The four guards at the banner closed their shields. Smalljon took the left pair, driving them back against the pole. Robb beat down the shield before him and struck its owner across the ribs. The fourth guard turned to meet him, but an heir coming up behind Robb caught the boy's exposed side. The two guards received white bands and stepped clear. With the remaining pair held by Smalljon, Robb tore the black cloth from its pole.

At the southern end, Domeric shifted left exactly as Tomas approached. Tomas turned towards Jorren.

"Rylas, keep Lyra. Jorren, strike Domeric's shield. Finnan with me through the right." Domeric met Jorren square. Lyra pulled Rylas wide. Finnan slammed the exposed shield edge; Tomas passed the other shoulder. Harrion Karstark, falling back from the western side, lunged to cover the flag and was caught between two black blades. Arthur's staff marked him out. Tomas reached the grey direwolf. Robb was already running south with black cloth streaming from his hand. Tomas gathered the direwolf against his chest and chose the eastern rope, where reeds slowed pursuit but left a narrow strip of firm turf along the boundary.

At the wet middle, the two men from Olyver's file closed their shields across Robb's path. He checked his stride and called Smalljon. The larger boy came pounding down from the pole, struck one defender across the ribs and drove the other's shield aside. Robb burst through. While they had been stopped, Tomas had passed the middle along the eastern rope; he now had fewer strides left to run.

The field broke around the two banners. Boys broke off their bouts to pursue or block the runners. White staffs rose behind them. Domeric chased Tomas until Finnan met him shield-first. Both landed cleanly and Arthur tied white upon both arms. Theon cut down the last guard behind Tomas; Rylas struck his ribs and took Theon's answering blow. They left together, arguing which was first until Martyn pointed his staff.

Robb gained on the open ground, but Tomas reached the black rope with the direwolf against his breast. Robb brought House Black's banner over his own line two strides later. Arthur sounded the horn. Every blade stopped. For a breath neither side knew which cloth had passed first. Tomas bent over, hauling air, with the grey cloth bunched against his chest. Robb stood mud to both knees with the black banner in one hand.

Rodrik heard Arthur, then Martyn. He lifted his staff towards Tomas. "House Black." The black coats shouted. Robb's company groaned, then laughed. Greatjon demanded another battle loud enough for the Wall to hear. Roose Bolton did not join him. He watched Tomas call four battered files together after their lord had been removed. Domeric watched too, his white band looped around one arm. Domeric said something to his father. Roose listened, his eyes still on the black coats.

Robb returned the black banner before coming to Jon. "I had you."

"You did." Jon took his shield back from Jory.

"And Smalljon got us through." Robb looked towards Tomas, who was carrying the grey banner back across the field. "I should have left more men with Domeric."

"Tomas saw the gap."

"Next time I am putting someone on him." Robb called the captain over and took the banner from him. "You run too fast."

Tomas was still catching his breath. "So did you, my lord."

Robb clasped his shoulder. Roose approached while Greatjon and Rodrik were disputing the finish. Domeric followed one step behind his father.

Roose looked past Jon to the eastern boundary, his exceptionally pale grey eyes following the strip between reeds and rope. "That strip of turf brought your captain home."

"Domeric nearly closed it," Tomas said.

"Nearly," Domeric agreed. He was still breathing hard. "I should have called Harrion back sooner."

"I needed Theon back," Robb said. "Not that he would have come."

"You commanded him," Domeric said.

Theon joined them, a white band around his wrist. "You should have called. I could not see you through the reeds."

Domeric offered Tomas his forearm, pushing back a mud-stained cuff so they could clasp cleanly. Roose watched the clasp, then went to speak with Rodrik. By the barrels, the boys were comparing the white bands they had earned and accusing one another of having died too cheaply.

Greatjon claimed Robb's banner must count because he had crossed his own rope before the horn ended. Rodrik told him Tomas had crossed first. Maege observed that Smalljon had spent most of the field running in the wrong direction with admirable force. Their sons drank and listened while the fathers fought the battle anew with cups in hand.

Medger Cerwyn brought Cley through the noise with a pale-haired nephew held by the shoulder. "This one died when he was told," he said, nudging Cley forward. "The other has spoken of your silver since the bellman read the call. He is fifteen and free of every promise but mine. After his next nameday, Hewyn may look at him."

The nephew bowed to Jon. "My lord, I have been practising with my uncle's men."

"Keep at it," Jon said. "Hewyn will hear you when a place opens."

Two mountain men came next to ask about landless cousins, followed by a Glover steward asking whether sea service changed the pay. Hewyn took them aside beneath the awning and sent for his clerk.

Near the water barrels, Luwin washed blood from Fergus's brow. A shield rim had opened the skin above one eye during Theon's first rush, but the boy had hidden it beneath wet hair until the red line reached his cheek.

"Who struck you?" Luwin asked, holding up two fingers for him to follow.

"Theon Greyjoy."

"Look at my hand." The maester bound the cut in white linen. "You sleep beside my hearth tonight. I want to watch that swelling."

Fergus touched the bandage and looked towards his file. "May I ride tomorrow?"

Ralf passed behind him with two saddles over one arm. "If Maester Luwin says you may. Until then, no saddle. Your horse can spare you a day."

Benjen found Eddard while the household counted shields. "Let me take them into the wolfswood tomorrow. Three nights should be enough to see how they manage away from their own yard."

The rookery horn answered before Eddard could. A boy brought the message to Luwin at the barrels. The maester broke the black wax and called Benjen over. Two more steadings in the Gift had emptied. One ranger had returned without the three men who left with him, and Mormont wanted his First Ranger north before another moon was lost.

"I ride at dawn," Benjen said.

Robb looked towards the wet meadow. "And the wolfswood?"

"Arthur can take you. I must get north." Benjen turned to Jon. "We will ride together when I next come down."

"I shall hold you to it."

Jon watched Tomas gather the four file leaders beside the racks. "Fifty before I sail," he said to Arthur. "I want men who can fight beside me as well as those have today."

"You have a good captain to help choose them." Arthur took the cracked shield Jon held and turned it to examine the split.

After supper Jon and Robb took the window bench in Eddard's solar while Benjen laid out the raven's message. Arthur came with them. Servants had brought extra benches; Wyman took the broad chair and Willam a place where he could stretch his leg. Theo sat at Eddard's invitation. Through the open windows came the fiddler's tune. No one interrupted Luwin's reading; by the missing rangers, Greatjon had stopped turning his cup.

"Which steadings?" Norrey asked.

Benjen named them. Norrey leaned forward, elbows upon his knees.

"My men use the western one when they cross the hills. There was a family there when they passed in the spring."

"There was a family there a moon ago," Benjen said. "Mormont has sent men to look for them."

"Raiding?" Rickard Karstark asked.

"We have found burnt crofts elsewhere. At these, the animals were gone and the doors left open. I will know more when I get back." Benjen rubbed a thumb along the edge of the letter. "The Watch has too few men for the roads it must cover. Mormont asked me to bring home what help I could find."

Eddard drew Luwin's list towards him. "Winterfell's grain will leave with an escort. The horses Hullen has chosen are ready. My brother rides at dawn; the wagons will follow."

"I can send flour by sea to Eastwatch," Wyman said. "Fish as well. There is no reason to drag it all the way from White Harbor on an axle."

Benjen nodded. "Send word to Cotter Pyke before your captain sails. He can have men ready to unload."

Luwin wrote while the two discussed which captain was likely to make the voyage. Jon watched Wyman lean nearer to hear Benjen over a burst of singing from the yard. At supper the lord of White Harbor had spoken of the same ships with a cup in his hand and his granddaughters leaning upon his chair. Now he wanted a letter waiting at the harbour before he returned.

Greatjon would send cattle. The drive could join Winterfell's wagons where the roads met. Lord Ryswell asked what kind of horses the rangers needed, and Benjen answered readily: sure feet, sound wind, mounts that would live on what could be found for them. He had no use for a great destrier in the woods.

"You shall have garrons," Ryswell said. "I know the sort."

Maege waited until Luwin had finished the line. "Bear Island can spare smoked fish. Not many men."

"Mormont knows your coast needs watching," Benjen said. "The fish will be welcome."

She nodded and sat back. There was no need to remind anyone how recently the ironborn had come to that coast. Beside her, Galbart spoke quietly to Helman, arranging for their provisions to go together.

Eddard let the offers finish before asking about recruits. Some lords had prisoners who might choose the black. Others promised to have the call made at their next gathering. Norrey said he would send word through his villages when he returned; his people knew the Watch's roads and some had kin among the brothers.

"I shall have the call made in Winter Town again," Eddard said. "Men who wish to go will be given food for the road."

Jon waited until his father looked towards the window bench. "I can send woollen cloth with the wagons. It is ready in the Black Yard. Perkin can have it brought up in the morning."

"Good dark wool?" Benjen asked.

"Brown. You will have to dye it."

"We have managed that before." His uncle smiled for the first time since entering the room. "Thank you."

Luwin read the promises back. A few men corrected the routes or added the names of stewards who should receive the letters. Robb listened closely, his hands still upon his knees.

Galbart Glover waited until the maester laid down his quill. "I saw your new men below the town, Jon. Young men, most of them. They will scarcely know another service by the time you sail."

"That is why I chose them young."

Galbart rested his cup upon one knee. "And every oath is to you?"

"Yes, my lord."

"He raises them with my leave," Eddard said. "They will go to Dragonstone with him."

"I know, Ned." Galbart glanced towards Robb beside Jon. "But we are accustomed to calling men from their fields when we need them. Yours will spend four years learning to be soldiers."

"They will," Jon said. "Hewyn and Martyn have begun."

Galbart turned his cup once, then rose. He bade Jon good night with a grave inclination of his head and went to speak with Benjen at the table.

Robb rose with his father. Norrey and Theo stayed to describe the western track and the family seen there; Willam waited for Arthur. Downstairs, the music had stopped and benches were being put back.

Later the young guests crowded the gallery outside Jon's room to argue over the banner race and their winnings. Wylla made them wait until he had washed and changed for bed, then let them into his room and took the best chair herself. Robb wanted to go over the race with Tomas; the boys were already moving pebbles across the floor while Smalljon insisted all games should end in wrestling. Beneath the window Wynafryd taught Sansa the admired border, Marna's brown braid touching Sansa's auburn one as she watched beside the Manderly sisters. Arya sat against Lyra's knee and made her explain how she had defended the flag.

When Benjen came to say his farewells, he found a dozen children on the floor arguing over pebbles laid out as shields. He stepped across the battlefield to embrace Jon, promised Arya he would remember the axe she had asked for, and told Robb to write something in his next letter besides who had beaten whom.

"What else happens here?" Theon asked.

"I shall ask your maester." Benjen ducked a cushion on his way out.

Benjen left before sunrise upon Tallow, with his bedroll across the saddle and provisions for the road. Jon watched the black cloak vanish along the kingsroad. Behind him the Old Watch's cracked ploughshare sounded the work bell. Below, the Black Yard answered in bronze. Between the two, Winter Town opened its shutters to another crowded morning.