Beside the campfire, Lancelot held a bottle of wine, staring at the remaining liquid inside. Then, he addressed the group.
"Let me tell you a story!"
"It's called 'The Crow and the Pitcher'."
A quarter of an hour later, Lancelot finished the story, leaving the others deep in thought.
"Crows are quite intelligent! I saw that talking raven with Lord Commander Mormont," Agoda said, tearing into a piece of dried beef.
"Of course crows are intelligent. Every Maester in the Citadel raises many of them to send messages," Lancelot explained.
"Are all crows under heaven equally black?" Agoda asked.
"No, there are white ravens too. They are special. Just like how black swans sometimes appear among white swans, they are unique, anomalies," Lancelot said.
"We Wildlings call the Night's Watch 'Crows,' but some of you join us. Those would be the White Crows, right, Benjen Stark?" Agoda looked at the First Ranger.
Benjen Stark remained silent for a moment before replying.
"Night's Watchmen who join the Wildlings are deserters. We must bring them to justice!"
"Although, we bear no malice towards you Wildlings personally," he added.
Living beyond the Wall was essentially wilderness survival, yet the Wildlings managed to thrive generation after generation. It was something worthy of admiration from Southerners.
---
In the North, it was snowing; in the South, it was raining.
The King's convoy crossed the Neck and entered the Riverlands.
Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully proposed visiting Riverrun to see Lord Hoster Tully, Catelyn's father.
Robert naturally agreed readily.
They arrived at Riverrun together, only to learn that Lord Hoster was gravely ill. Lying in bed, he groggily opened his eyes, trying to pay respects to King Robert.
"Forget it! Lord Hoster, by generation, I am your junior. Counting from Ned, you are my uncle; counting from Jon Arryn, you're practically my grandfather!"
King Robert scolded, somewhat annoyed by the formality.
"Hahaha!" Lord Hoster laughed, a rare occurrence.
"My health is poor, so please let Edmure host you! Can you leave my daughter here to talk with me?" Lord Hoster asked.
"Of course! We won't disturb you!" Eddard Stark and the others withdrew from the room, leaving father and daughter alone.
"Little Cat! Haven't seen you in over ten years, have I? Cough, cough!" A feverish flush from coughing appeared on Lord Hoster's face.
"Father! I should have come to see you more often," Catelyn looked at him with concern.
"I heard Jon Arryn is gone! That old man... poor Lysa!"
Thinking of his younger daughter, he recalled unpleasant memories.
"Father, Lysa..." Catelyn hesitated, unsure if she should mention the letter Lysa had sent her.
"Listen to me, Little Cat. Lysa... her life is hard! Unlike you, married to a young man. Jon Arryn was older than me!"
Regret showed on Lord Hoster's face.
"Back then, if not for solidifying the alliance, marrying Lysa to Jaime Lannister would have been the best choice," he continued.
"The Kingslayer?" Catelyn asked.
"He wasn't the Kingslayer back then! Nor had he joined the Kingsguard. Tywin's eldest son, marrying my younger daughter... definitely a worthy match."
"It was just that wretched boy who appeared... he, he, he! He!"
Lord Hoster seemed to be thinking of someone specific.
"Baelish..." Catelyn murmured the name.
---
In Riverrun, Edmure warmly hosted all the distinguished guests.
It was his first time meeting his nieces and nephews.
Seeing Sansa, Bran, and Rickon all with auburn hair, Edmure was very pleased.
However, seeing Arya, he was somewhat dissatisfied with her black hair.
And Arya seemed ignorant of ladylike etiquette.
But what puzzled Edmure most was Ygritte. Her auburn hair made Edmure envious.
But upon hearing she was Jon Snow's wife, Edmure wore an expression of pity.
Privately, King Robert quietly asked Edmure if there were any good brothels nearby, or if any peasant girls were willing to warm their beds.
Edmure gave a knowing smile and whispered back.
"Your Grace, I'll take you tonight! The girls of the Riverlands might not compare to other places, but they are quite nice!"
The two made their plans.
The others behaved themselves.
Jaime Lannister, for some reason, felt his left hand itch terribly after arriving in the Riverlands, giving him a strong urge to hold a sword.
Then, inexplicably, he began practicing dual-wielding swordsmanship.
He was naturally right-handed and didn't know left-handed swordplay, but his idol, the Sword of the Morning, was a dual-wielder (in some versions of the tale, though Arthur Dayne famously wielded Dawn, a greatsword, show canon or specific legends might vary, implying ambidexterity or dual wielding skills).
Jaime Lannister was now in Riverrun's Godswood, holding a sword in each hand, practicing.
Just then, Jon Snow arrived. He saw Jaime Lannister.
In Jon Snow's eyes, Jaime Lannister was tall, handsome, imposing, and possessed a kingly demeanor.
"A dual-wielder! Isn't he right-handed?" Jon Snow watched Jaime secretly.
If Lancelot were present to check Jaime's stats, he would notice a change in his strength and speed.
Name: Jaime Lannister
Identity: Kingsguard
Class: Knight
Strength: 20
Speed: 20
Intelligence: 20
Spirit: 20
Magic: 10
Talent: Ambidextrous Swordsman
Evaluation: For love, he would risk everything. For honor, he can also forget life and death.
"Watched long enough, little wolf pup?" Jaime Lannister smiled, looking toward the tree where Jon Snow was hiding.
"You noticed me long ago?" Jon stepped forward.
"You didn't hide your presence! And I felt a chill of winter... must be a Stark nearby!" Jaime laughed.
"Could you give me some pointers on my swordsmanship?" Jon Snow asked.
"Sure, come on!" Jaime Lannister said.
Jon Snow drew the longsword at his waist, while Jaime Lannister twirled his dual blades.
The wind picked up, and the battle between the two began. Hazily, it seemed as if another figure appeared behind each of them.
Behind Jon Snow appeared not Eddard Stark, but Rhaegar Targaryen.
And behind Jaime Lannister appeared the Sword of the Morning: Arthur Dayne.
The fight started fast and ended fast.
In less than ten moves, Jon was defeated, Jaime's sword stopping at his throat.
"You still need practice!" Jaime sheathed his sword.