That harvest, Robb learned the northern houses by the mud they brought into Winterfell.
The Karstark horses shed black peat under the gate. Pale clay came from the Umbers, along with two long-legged dogs no one had invited and a baggage wagon whose axle shrieked at every turn. The Mormont riders left dark grit and drops of rain beneath sealskin cloaks. Roose Bolton's grooms halted outside to scrape every hoof clean, as if no part of the Dreadfort were to be abandoned on Stark stone.
Above them, the harvest banners made the wet morning bright. White sunburst, chained giant, black bear, flayed man, moose, merman and direwolf snapped from the walls. Robb ran to the covered walk whenever the gate horn sounded. Jon came for the first two arrivals, wearing black wool under a leather work apron and iron dust across one cheek.
When Roose Bolton rode in, Robb crouched behind a rain barrel to watch him.
"What are you hiding for?" Jon asked.
"I wanted to see him first."
Robb had expected long red teeth or skinless hands, something of the man on his banner. Lord Bolton was pale, soft-spoken and clean. His eyes were paler still. When they turned towards the barrel, Robb ducked a little lower.
"Will you come out?" Jon asked. He stayed beside the barrel, his eyes following Bolton across the yard.
"In a moment."
The horn blew again. Jon checked the steel file tucked through his apron cord and went back to put it away.
"You will miss a lord," Arthur said from the doorway.
"He can arrive without me."
Jon returned the file to its leather loop, washed the grey from his fingers, and reached the yard in time to see the Hornwood moose pass beneath the arch. Lord Halys Hornwood rode first, followed by Daryn, his long-legged heir, and Hallan, his little nephew and page. Hallan sat a shaggy pony with his uncle's gloves tucked through his belt. One glove fell beneath a baggage wheel while he waved. "Hallan!" Robb shouted.
Hallan waved back and his pony shied at the loose glove. Hullen caught the bridle until the animal stood, then helped the boy down. Harwin retrieved the glove from the mud.
Hallan was no sooner down than Robb dragged him to the mounting block, where an old slate waited beneath the eaves. They had drawn Winterfell's yards on it during Hallan's last visit: a pine gate, a hot-water stair and a west wall that leaned because Robb had run out of slate. "You kept it," Hallan said.
"I said I would." Robb pointed at the new line. "Jon helped with the west wall."
"The stable turn is still wrong," Hallan said, tracing it with one muddy finger.
"You drew that part." They were arguing over whose mistake should be scraped away before Lord Halys crossed the inner ward.
The court filled the castle faster than Vayon Poole could make room. Grain carts queued from storehouse to gate. Hooded hawks crowded the mews, visiting hounds doubled the kennels, and every gallery smelled of wet wool and drying leather. Willam Dustin arrived with Mark Ryswell late in the afternoon. He swept Robb up before greeting Eddard, then reached for Jon as well.
"Too heavy now?" Willam asked when Jon stiffened.
"You have mud on your gloves."
"And you have iron on your nose." Willam wiped it with his thumb and set him down. Mark handed Eddard a folded petition without interrupting the greeting. His cheek still bore the narrow scar from Dorne.
"Three riders disputing the same pasture," he said. "I brought all three. They have disagreed at every halt."
"You might have left them there," Willam said.
"You offered each of them your judgment. I thought Ned should hear what you promised."
Eddard looked at his old friend. Willam spread his hands, grinning. Martyn came down the stair to take their wet cloaks, and for a moment the men spoke over one another as though the intervening years had only been a long ride. Jon stayed beside them until a groom brought the horses away.
Theo Wull reached them before the horses had left the yard. His cloak had taken more weather than Willam's, and the hem left wet patches on the stair. He gripped Eddard's forearm, pulled Martyn close with his other hand, and asked which of them meant to find him a dry seat.
"Willam has been saving one for you," Mark said.
"Then he has eaten what was beside it." Theo turned as a knot of riders came through the gate on mountain ponies. Two wore pine-clasped cloaks; another had bound his shaggy beard to keep it from the rain. He called them over instead of leaving Eddard to meet them later.
Robb listened from beside his father. These were Flints and Norreys, though none wore the bright surcoats he had been using to learn the houses. One man had brought a cheese wrapped in clean cloth; another a pair of hawks for the mews. Eddard received both as gravely as the Karstark rents. When he asked about the mountain roads, three men answered at once and Theo made them begin again.
"Come to us while the weather holds, Ned. There is a buck above the river that would shame your huntsmen."
"Your neighbours said as much of theirs," Eddard answered.
"Then come and judge." Theo glanced down at Robb. "You too, when your father will spare you."
Robb looked up at once. Eddard rested a hand on his shoulder and said they would speak of it after the harvest court. It was enough to send Robb hunting for Hallan, who had never been farther into the mountains than he had.
Men slept on pallets in the long passages. A Mormont girl found a Bear Island dog in her blankets and claimed him; the kennel boy claimed the blanket instead.
Whole deer went into the kitchen before noon. By evening, the spits shone with grease. The cooks sent out roast venison dusted with salt, onions blackened in their skins, barley bread, turnips mashed with butter, and great pots of mutton stew for the lower tables. A spit boy fell asleep against the scullery wall holding an onion. A cook took the onion, kicked his shoe, and pointed him towards a pallet.
The lords brought rents, petitions and quarrels to Eddard. Their children took the yards.
Greatjon Umber's son was already called Smalljon, though he stood a head above boys older than he. Jorelle Mormont whistled four Winterfell hounds from their keeper and smiled when Farlen made her whistle them back. Eddard Karstark beat Robb twice with practice swords. His brother Torrhen lost a footrace when he tried to leap a cook's basket and landed among the leeks. Hallan carried his uncle's notes and gloves with great seriousness until any game began, whereupon he forgot both.
Jon arrived after dinner, smelling of horse and metal. By then every good contest had sides. Robb made room beside him. "You are with me."
"Against whom?"
Robb looked at Smalljon bending a practice bow, Jorelle upon the kennel rail, the Karstarks arguing over whether leeks counted as a weapon, and Daryn Hornwood pretending not to be pleased that the older pages had admitted him to their line. "All of them."
At supper Robb found that the best place to hear the visiting lords was also the worst place to reach the gravy. A horn of ale, Lord Halys's elbow and a dish of roast onions stood between him and it. He waited until his mother glanced away, then stretched. Jon caught his cup before he tipped it.
Lord Halys was telling Eddard about a boar hunt. Each telling brought the animal a little nearer his horse before the spear struck. Medger Cerwyn had been there; he remembered a fallen branch as well, and Halys obligingly put it back into the story. Robb listened until the boar was dead, then asked whether Daryn had held a spear.
"He held my second horse," Halys said. "A necessary office, though he complained of it afterwards."
Daryn reddened. Hallan whispered that the horse had almost pulled his cousin into a bush. Robb had to drink before he could answer without laughing.
Farther up the table, Theo Wull stood to make room for one of the Norreys. Eddard sent them the new jug. The mountain men drank to his harvest, and Theo asked after Benjen; the question brought quieter talk about the Wall and a man whose sons had both taken the black. Robb heard only pieces once Greatjon began calling across the hall for more mustard.
Lady Donella rescued the gravy from her husband's elbow and sent it down to the children herself. Sansa thanked her with the careful courtesy Septa Mordane had made her practise. She sat very straight in a blue wool gown with seed pearls around the neck, her auburn hair braided as neatly as Mother's. She smoothed her skirts before looking again at Jorelle's sealskin cloak, uncertain whether it was beautiful or smelled too strongly of dog. "It smells of the sea," Jorelle said.
"Seas have no fur," Sansa said. "Dogs do."
"Bear Island's sea has fur enough when the seals come up on the rocks," Jorelle replied. "The bears do not complain of the smell."
Sansa appealed to Robb. He had never seen Bear Island, but would not confess it. "Perhaps it smells better nearer the bears."
Jorelle laughed. Sansa ate her stewed apple in offended silence. After the meat had been cleared, Hallan brought out the slate, and the boys began planning a fort behind the armoury.
Smalljon wanted a wall strong enough to stand on. Daryn wanted horses for the attackers. Robb dismissed that at once; Hullen would never lend them, and Father would send them all back to lessons if anyone tried to charge a pony into the fort.
"There is the old handcart," Jon said. "We can use its body for the wall. The wheels are off already."
"And half-barrels for towers," Robb said.
"Gates. No one is standing on them." Ser Rodrik had heard from the next table. He took the slate, looked at their drawing and promised to inspect the place with Arthur in the morning.
By the following morning sixteen children had joined the game. Olyver came with the boards his father allowed them to borrow. He shook his head at the two loose wheels Robb wanted upright, but helped prop them against the cart. The half-barrels stood at either end for gates, and Rodrik put a carved wooden wolf inside. Robb's attackers were to take it beyond the white stones; Jon's defenders must keep them out.
Jon tied black cord round his side's wrists. Olyver and Hallan guarded the openings, with two shield-bearers behind the cart. Cley, the smallest boy, wore rope-soled shoes and said his father kept Winterfell's drains. Jon sent him round to the back of the cart to watch the runnel.
Ser Rodrik walked the posts, then raised his hand. Robb attacked at the bell.
Smalljon came straight at the cart with an empty half-barrel braced against his chest. Daryn and the Karstarks ran beside him behind practice shields. Jon sent Olyver and two boys to meet them, keeping the others back until he saw where Robb would try to break through.
The barrel struck the crossed shields and stopped. Robb sent both Karstarks round the sides, but Jon had men waiting at each gap. Robb himself came close enough to touch the wooden wolf before Olyver drove him back with his shield.
"Again," Robb said before Jon had caught his breath.
Jon took water from the jug and passed it down the line. Rodrik returned the barrel while Robb whispered to the Karstarks.
Robb changed the second attack. Smalljon and Daryn drove at the right opening while the Karstarks dragged the empty half-barrel towards the left. Jon sent one reserve shield right and kept the other. Hallan seized the wolf, only to surrender it when Robb promised him first choice of honey cakes. "There are no honey cakes," Hallan said afterward.
"If any appear, you choose first."
Hallan considered the bargain and laughed. Jon took the black cord from his wrist. "You can sit with your honey cakes for the next round."
Before the third round Arthur called them off for water. Smalljon protested, but drank more than anyone when the jug reached him.
When they began again, Robb put Daryn and the Karstarks beside Smalljon so they could bring the barrel forward together. Jon moved Olyver behind the cart to meet them. Then Cley called from the rear.
"Lord Jon—the water."
Water was rising around the rear corner of the cart, bubbling through the grass above the old runnel. Hallan left his place outside the game and came to look.
"Stop!" Jon waved Robb back and pulled Hallan away from the bank. Arthur reached them as the cart settled. A slab of wet earth slid into the hollow beneath it.
Rodrik sent everyone beyond the white stones. The cart leaned into the mud, its rear corner lower than before. Robb stood looking at the place where Hallan had been. Nobody asked for another round.
Branch, the ditchmaster, came with three of his men. His green hood dripped on his beard as he tested the ground with a long rod.
"The old drain is blocked below this," he told Arthur. "It has been washing the earth from under the bank."
Jon followed the runnel downhill with his eyes and pointed out the buried outlet. Branch sent his men to open it before they began digging above. Once the bank was safe, the children helped recover the fort: Branch's men hauled the cart clear while the children gathered boards and washed the cords. Water rushed through the cleared channel with leaves, shavings and one of Olyver's pegs tumbling in it.
Jon thanked Cley when they had finished. The ditch boy had lost a shoe in the mud; he held the sodden thing in one hand while Master Branch shook the worst of it out.
"You are on my side next time," Jon said.
"If Father lets me, my lord."
* * *
Alone that night, Jon opened the book he kept in English. He turned past the clock drawings and wrote Roose Bolton upon a clean leaf, with Ramsay beneath it. He remembered Roose with a sword in Robb, and Ramsay amid the ruin of Winterfell. At supper he had watched the father pass a dish to Eddard and ask after the roads. No man at the table had drawn away from him. Jon wrote the Weeping Water beside Ramsay's name. He needed to learn who came from the Dreadfort, which men spoke for Roose and where the bastard was living. The next Bolton party to enter Winterfell would find him paying closer attention. He shut the book and locked it in the casket beneath his clothes. When Wylla came to see whether he was asleep, he was still awake, listening to the guests crossing the gallery.
* * *
Catelyn seated Robb beside her for the last morning of petitions. Jon sat at the other end of Eddard's bench, close enough to hear the witnesses.
The great hall smelled of rushes, damp cloaks and yesterday's smoke. Sun through the high windows laid red and blue bars across the stone. Robb's feet did not reach the floor. He kept them still because every northern lord could see them swinging.
Lord Cerwyn brought the first petition, from a widow whose family held a farm of him. Her eldest son had gone lame beneath a falling tree. Her younger son served at the Dreadfort. She asked leave to put the elder man's daughter in his place upon the holding instead of sending for the younger brother.
Eddard heard the widow and her son. While the steward read out their rents, Catelyn quietly pointed out the Cerwyn badge on the man who had come to speak for them. Robb leaned forward when the girl was called.
She was perhaps twelve, red-handed and nervous, twisting the end of her plait. She had tended the barley and two milk cows since her father's accident, she said. The Cerwyn man confirmed it. Eddard asked about the younger son at the Dreadfort; no one had brought his answer.
"I can send for it," Lord Bolton said.
Until it came, Eddard left the holding in the injured father's name, with his daughter to continue the work. No stock was to be removed. The widow bowed, plainly disappointed not to have the matter settled, but the girl stopped twisting her plait.
Robb watched them go. "Does he have to give up being a soldier?"
"No," Catelyn said. "But your father will hear him before deciding what becomes of the farm."
At the noon meal Cley sat below the salt with Master Branch's ditch gang. His shoes were drying beneath the bench and his feet were wrapped in cloth. As Jon passed, he saw the boy put a heel of bread into his sleeve.
"For my sister, my lord," Cley said quickly. "She could not come."
Jon set the untouched half of his own loaf beside the bowl. "Take that as well."
"Thank you, my lord." Cley looked down at the bread, embarrassed by how swiftly he had reached for it.
Back at the high table, Robb asked what Cley had wanted. Jon told him about the sister.
"Can he take meat as well?" Robb asked.
The kitchen woman bringing the stew heard him. "Tell Pella it is for Branch's girl. There is good meat left on the joint."
Robb was halfway from his seat before Catelyn touched his wrist. She glanced down the table, where the visiting children were still eating. "Wait until the course is finished."
Jon rose. "I will ask." She let him go without the hand she kept upon Robb. Behind the screens, Pella stood in a cloud of steam with her sleeves rolled and her spoon tucked through her belt.
"Branch's girl?" She reached for a clean cloth. "Nella. He told me she was sick last moon."
"He is taking her some bread. I would like meat to go with it."
"Crust and something better, my lord." She spread the cloth upon the board.
Jon held a corner while she packed bread, meat from one joint and a small onion. She tied the bundle and gave it to him with a bob of her head.
Jon carried the bundle back to Cley, who took it in both hands. "Thank you, my lord. Nella will be pleased."
Robb watched Cley carry the food to his father. "She can sit with him when she is well."
"Perhaps next court," Catelyn said. She turned to ask Lord Cerwyn about the widow's farm. Jon sat again, listening to the boy at the lower table describe what was inside the cloth.
Before the gathering dispersed, a warning reached Winterfell from White Harbor.
* * *
It bore no royal seal. A White Harbor merchant had copied a Seagard factor, who had heard from a Lordsport fisher that Balon Greyjoy was recalling captains and gathering longships off Pyke. Jason Mallister had closed Seagard's gates, though no lord had yet named rebellion.
Eddard read the message in his shuttered solar. Catelyn sat beside him, Ser Rodrik near the hearth. Arthur stood over the western map. Luwin had brought ink and blank parchment; Jon attended because Dragonstone's ten warships would be called if there was war. Robb sat on a stool at his mother's side.
"Mallister has shut his gates," Rodrik said. "He will know more than a merchant's factor."
"We shall ask him," Eddard answered. "And warn the coast." He looked at Jon. "Ethan should hear this."
"I will send today. Denys needs time to recall his crews and inspect the hulls."
Jon knew Balon would crown himself, that the Lannister fleet would burn and Stannis would meet Victarion off Fair Isle. Or that was what he remembered. Arthur Dayne stood alive beside the map, and the ships of Dragonstone bore a banner they had never carried in the books. He had read enough military history to distrust an account that made victory seem inevitable. Even a battle that ended as he remembered might spend different ships and different men to get there.
He drew the last fleet return towards him. Six ships had been crewed when Ethan wrote it; four were still under repair.
"Denys will have to send the present count," he said. "Ethan keeps the men he needs for the castle and harbour. I do not want him stripping the garrison to put another mast before Stannis."
Eddard agreed. "No ship sails west until the king calls, or we send another order. Luwin, add my seal to Jon's."
Jon dictated the warning while the maester wrote. Beyond the shuttered door the waiting petitioners could be heard disputing over seats. There would be time to prepare, if the raven reached Dragonstone promptly.
By noon, the hall had returned to sheep, bride gifts and two neighbours who swore the same boundary stone had walked uphill. Robb called the meeting a war council before the wax cooled. The king's raven arrived three days later while servants were taking down the harvest tables.
Balon Greyjoy had crowned himself with driftwood, burned the Lannister fleet and broken the king's peace. Robert commanded Eddard Stark to bring the strength of the North west. A second parchment named Jon Black and required every seaworthy ship of Dragonstone beneath Stannis Baratheon.
Catelyn had given birth to Arya the previous night. She heard the preparations from a cushioned chair in Eddard's solar with the red-faced baby against one shoulder. Damp darkened the loose hair at her temples. Eddard wore one riding boot; the other stood beside the table, where Rodrik sorted road tallies, letters and Mikken's count of shoes, nails and wagon rims.
Jon broke the seal on the letter addressed to him. Beneath the clerk's hand, Robert had added one crooked line: Send me ships that keep the sea out, Ned's boy. "Did the king write that himself?" Robb asked.
"He did," Catelyn said. Arya woke against her shoulder and began to wail.
Robb covered one ear. His mother adjusted the blanket and sent him to fetch the nurse from the passage. Eddard pulled on his second boot.
"What have you written, Jon?"
"Ethan keeps enough men to hold the island. Denys takes the sound ships to Stannis."
"Even if fewer than ten can sail?" Rodrik asked.
"Robert asked for seaworthy ships." Jon drew the writing board closer. "I will answer for those."
Eddard nodded. "Seal it."
The castle changed before the wax hardened. Bright awnings came down wet. Men who had argued over rents counted spear bundles beneath the gate. Grain wagons returned from the storehouse loaded with oats, hard bread, salt beef, spare bowstrings and horseshoes. Farriers worked under torchlight. The forge rang through supper. Ravens flew to White Harbor, Deepwood Motte and every northern house that had not sent men to harvest court.
Arthur's saddle remained empty. When two Hornwood men asked why he was not riding with the king, a Stark guard told them that Lord Eddard had left him to guard Jon.
Beneath the covered stair, where rain and creaking wagons hid them, Eddard clasped Arthur's forearm. "If I do not return?"
Arthur touched the small key under his tunic. "Howland keeps the proof shut unless Jon's life requires it. I take him to Greywater first."
"If Winterfell itself is threatened, Catelyn and the children go with you," Eddard said.
Arthur nodded. "I will see them through the Neck."
Eddard held him one breath longer. Then Eddard went to Jon. He knelt despite the mud and tightened the clasp of the boy's cloak himself. "Denys commands the ships," he said.
"I know." Jon looked up from the clasp. "You told me."
"Then forgive me for telling you twice." Eddard rested both hands upon his shoulders. "Look after your brother while I am gone."
Jon wanted to tell him the sea battle was won already in memory. Instead he said, "Come home."
Eddard drew him close. Jon's face pressed into wet grey wool. "I mean to." Robb held his chin high until the last baggage cart passed through the gate. Then his mouth folded. Catelyn drew him against her skirts with one hand while the other held Arya beneath her cloak. The northern column turned south into rain.
* * *
Captain Denys found Stone Drum open along her port bow when Jon's warning reached Dragonstone. Carpenters had stripped the planks back to the ribs, exposing a split scarf joint and rot around two treenails. Her captain stood in the repair berth, arguing that she had crossed Blackwater Bay the previous moon.
"She leaked then," the oldest carpenter said. He drove his knife into the softened wood and pulled out a dark chip.
Denys climbed the staging. He was broad at the waist, bald where his leather cap rubbed, and more comfortable on a deck than a ladder. Ethan Glover waited below with the parchment in hand.
"How long to replace it?" Denys asked.
"Three weeks."
"Greyjoy will not wait three weeks," the captain said.
"Then you sail with me. Your mate can stay and oversee the repairs." Denys tested the exposed joint with his own hand before climbing down. "Stone Drum stays here."
Across the harbour, crews returned from fishing grounds and merchant berths. Wives brought rolled blankets. Children carried sea bags larger than their bodies. Coopers knocked bungs from the water casks; sour water ran into the gutter, while clean casks received fresh pitch. The sail loft spread patched canvas over every dry yard inside the curtain. Two goats escaped a merchant pen and ate a bunch of leeks before a boy caught them. Denys went ship by ship with the captains and carpenters. Black Gull needed a mast step. Captain Erryk had the rotten timber out before Denys reached her. "Two days," Erryk said.
"Your mate said one."
"Then he may work tonight. The ship needs two."
Harbert, the squadron's oldest leadsman, sat nearby packing tallow into the hollow of his sounding lead. "His mate has never fitted a mast step by lantern light."
"Then you can hold the lantern for him," Erryk said.
Harbert grinned and bent over his work.
Black Tern leaked around two stern seams. Caulkers worked by torchlight. King's Tooth wanted new steering-oar lashings. Black Eel's foresail had mildewed in its locker and split when men bent it. Denys let no captain hide a flaw beneath pitch or pride. "How many?" Ethan asked on the second evening.
Denys ate salt herring over the muster, oil shining on his fingers. "Seven now. Eight when Tern's seams hold. Nine when Erryk has his mast stepped again. Stone Drum will not leave the berth."
"Stannis will ask about the tenth," Ethan said, tearing a piece of black bread.
"Send him the carpenter's account. If he wants to see her himself, the staging will still be up."
Ethan dipped his bread in the herring oil and nodded. He had no wish to lose a crew before they reached the war.
The king's summons arrived before the last ship was ready. Two mornings later, nine black hulls left Dragonstone. Families watched from the quay until the harbour turn hid the sails. Harbert's two daughters ran along the wall waving strips of white cloth; he answered with his cap until they were lost to sight. At the anchorage in Blackwater Bay, Denys went aboard Stannis's flagship with Ethan's letters. The king's brother stood at the rail, tall and lean in salt-dark leather, his dark blue eyes fixed upon the arriving squadron.
"Nine," he said.
"Stone Drum is open to the keel," Denys said. "Her captain wanted her at sea before the repairs could be finished."
Stannis glanced at the carpenter's account. "She stays under repair. I will send your orders before we sail."
That night the fleet anchored under a low coast. Men ate pease porridge thick with salt pork, checked shield straps by lantern, and slept in damp wool between the benches. Denys made his rounds barefoot to feel any change in the deck beneath him. King's Tooth smelled of tar, onions, bilge and too many men trying not to be afraid.
After rounding Dorne and sailing up the western coast, they met Victarion Greyjoy off Fair Isle in a hard south-west wind.
Before dawn, Stannis's order came by fast boat. The heavier Dragonstone ships would hold the centre between the king's dromonds and the Redwyne wing. Their work was not to chase. They were to keep open water behind the royal van and deny the ironborn a gap through which to turn the king's line.
Denys called the other captains aboard before they took station. "Keep the line. No pursuit without Stannis's signal. Tern on my starboard, Eel to port. If King's Tooth falls out, Tern takes my place."
He made certain each captain knew the horn calls and the fallback flags, then sent them back to their ships. Erryk went last, glancing towards Black Gull's newly stepped mast.
"Still standing?" Denys asked.
"All night."
"So was I," said the carpenter who had come with him. "The captain slept."
Erryk laughed and climbed down into his boat.
Perron leaned beside Denys at the rail. He was called Little, though he stood taller than any man aboard. One boot had split at the toe.
"If we take a prize, I want her captain's boots."
"Find a captain with feet as big as yours."
The laughter died as ironborn sails appeared through the morning murk. Victarion's longships advanced in broken wedges, narrow bows lifting through white water. Horns sounded from the royal dromonds. Oars ran out along King's Tooth in two dark rows; archers crouched behind wet hides along the rail. Harbert cast his lead from the bow.
"Nine fathoms. Sand and shell."
"Call me at seven." Denys turned to watch the approaching wedges.
Perron went among the rowers with strips of salt beef. Oswin One-Ear took one without leaving his shield. The name had outlasted some long-forgotten quarrel; both ears stuck out beneath his cap. He tucked the beef into his cheek and watched the ironborn come on.
The first ram struck a royal dromond two ships east. Its oars broke in a row, sharp cracks carrying over the horns. As one ironborn wedge closed upon it, a second turned towards the opening astern.
"Port oars hold! Starboard, pull!" Denys shouted. "Perron, signal Eel to wait."
King's Tooth turned across the gap. The ironborn galley coming for her side struck her forward quarter instead and scraped along it. Grapnels flew over both rails. Harbert cut the first rope; Perron split the second with his axe. The third hooked high in the shrouds.
"Spears to the rail!"
Arrows thudded into the wet hides. One passed through and caught a rower in the throat. Behind Denys, men dragged him away from the benches while the first ironborn boarders came over with shields raised.
Dragonstone men locked shields along the waist. Short spears thrust between the rims. An ironborn axeman gained the rail and swung at Perron; Perron caught the blow on his shield, drove his axe into the man's shoulder and shoved him back. Oswin struck the next boarder beneath the chin with a boar spear. The enemy backed its oars, tightening the grapnel caught in King's Tooth's shrouds.
"Cut that rope!" Denys called, pointing above them.
Perron climbed the forward ladder. The grappled hulls slewed apart before he reached the rope. The steering oar kicked in its brackets and threw the helmsman down. A third longship appeared from port, its ram hurling white water. "Brace!"
King's Tooth rolled as the ram struck, taking the beak above the waterline. Three planks sprang inward. Men behind them screamed as oak splinters crossed the rowing deck. The longship scraped along her side, tearing four port oars from their locks. High above, the taut grapnel dragged the shrouds sideways. Two parted and the foremast leaned. "Clear the bow!" Denys shouted.
The mast came down across the forward rail. Sailcloth swallowed three men. The yard pinned Harbert at the hips. His sounding line spun overboard. Denys reached him with Perron. Blood filled the old man's beard where he had bitten through his lip. "Lift the yard," Denys ordered.
"I cannot move," Harbert gasped. His hand fastened round Denys's wrist.
A horn sounded from Black Gull. A burning pitch pot had burst against her forward castle. Men beat at the flames beneath the wet hides, but fire had caught behind the planking. It showed through a split board, then climbed a tarred stay to the furled canvas above.
Erryk held Black Gull against the galley grappled to her while his boats went over. Denys saw him on the quarterdeck cutting a trailing boat free before the fire reached its line. Then smoke covered him.
King's Tooth had fallen half a ship's length behind her place. The lost mast pulled the bow down; damaged port oars could not answer. Through the gap came another Greyjoy longship. Perron looked towards Black Gull. "We can reach her boats."
A royal dromond was already turning across the fire, lowering nets and ladders. Denys pointed to the lee boats. "Two boats to the swimmers. The dromond can take them aboard. Axes to our mast! Starboard pull. Port hold what remains."
Perron hesitated, looking towards the smoke that hid Erryk's quarterdeck.
"Cut it free!" Denys shouted.
Axes struck the rigging. Four sailors dragged the yard high enough to pull Harbert clear, and the broken mast rolled over the side. The leadsman screamed as they carried him aft. King's Tooth began to answer her remaining oars.
Black Tern reached the opening before the next ironborn could pass through it. Her ram sheared seven oars and tore away half her own bronze beak. Black Eel closed from the other side, leaving the longship caught between them. Tern's men cast grapnels and hauled her alongside.
Denys brought King's Tooth against the longship's stern quarter. "Across! Take the steering oar!"
Perron went over behind his shield. The ironborn captain met him in a black mail shirt, an axe rising above his shoulder. The blow split the shield rim and laid his forearm open. He drove forward anyway. Oswin scrambled after him and fell beneath a bench with a spear through his belly.
From the rail Denys could see only fragments of the fighting: a bare foot slipping in blood, a shield turned edge-on between two men, the kraken cloth coming down. Perron sank to one knee with an axe in his side. The ironborn captain lay beyond him.
"Yield!" Denys shouted. "Throw down your arms!"
Some obeyed. Others went over the far rail. Denys crossed with the next men and secured the steering oar. The captured galley was Salt Wraith; her damaged mast leaned above two opened seams, but she was still afloat. He left twenty men and a wounded mate aboard her, then returned King's Tooth to the centre. Behind them Black Gull burned while her boats pulled towards the royal dromond.
By noon, Victarion's wedges had broken against Stannis's line. The ironborn who could flee turned west. Stannis's flags held the pursuit until his squadrons had dressed their ranks; only then did selected dromonds give chase.
Denys did not follow. King's Tooth had lost a mast, four oars, and twelve feet of planking above the water. She held her appointed water until the last horn.
Once the prize's seams had been shored and her damaged spar lowered, they laid the wounded on Salt Wraith's scrubbed rowing benches. Sand and seawater made pink streams along the deck. A healer moved between narrow beds with his sleeves red to the elbow.
The healer feared Harbert would never stand a deck again. The yard had broken his hip and one leg. He gripped Denys's wrist while men bound splints from hip to ankle. "My girls."
"I will see to them."
Harbert's fingers tightened. "Tell Mira I am coming home. She will hear about the ship."
"I will send word tonight." Denys stayed until the splints were bound.
Captain Erryk's body had not been found. Forty-one men had come off Black Gull by boat or trailing rope; eighteen were still missing. By evening eighteen more were dead across the squadron. Perron was among them. He died before sunset with the axe cut open beneath his ribs. Oswin lay beside him, his mouth still open as though he had another complaint to make.
Denys sent mates among the living for every name. Beside each dead or missing man he put a wife, mother, sister, brother or village. Three lines remained bare.
Stannis came at dusk with two mailed men, whom he left by the gangplank. He stepped around the wounded laid on the benches and heard Denys's account at the stern.
"Eight of the nine remain," Denys said. "Five need repairs. Black Gull is gone. We took Salt Wraith, but her mast must come out and two seams have opened. Stone Drum is still in the berth at home."
"Who took the prize?"
"Tern rammed her. Eel closed the other side. King's Tooth boarded."
"Those crews receive their shares. Have the ship surveyed before you set a value on her."
Stannis read the names of the dead and the account of Black Gull's loss. He stopped at Erryk's name.
"I saw her boats reach the dromond," he said. "You held the centre."
"Tern closed it for us. We could scarcely turn until the mast was clear."
"Put her captain's part in the report." Stannis folded the sheet. "I want the repair estimates by morning."
Denys waited until he had gone before beginning the letters for home. His hand cramped over the first name. He set down the quill, flexed his fingers, and tried again.
* * *
At Winterfell the news came piecemeal. Ironborn burned fishing villages and vanished before northern horse could reach them. Rodrik Greyjoy died beneath Seagard's wall. Redwyne sails entered the straits. Jon moved the nine little black ships across the map only when a report named their position. He laid loops of cord round them to show how far they might have sailed since.
Robb put Black Gull nearer Pyke.
"We have heard nothing since the straits," Jon told him.
"They cannot still be there."
"Perhaps not." Jon moved the ship back and widened the cord. "We shall know when Denys writes."
Sansa placed three painted horses behind the coast. "These wait for Father."
"Horses cannot sail," Robb told her, pointing to the carved coastline.
"They are here." She pointed firmly to the land beneath their hooves.
Jon looked at where she had set them, all beside the prettiest bay. "He will need one by the road." He showed her the track leading north.
She moved them carefully, noses towards the tracks.
After the ships were put away, Jon stayed to mend one of Sansa's broken horses. Its foreleg had parted at the peg. She held the body while he trimmed a splinter from the hole, and Robb searched beneath the table for the missing piece. The room had been quiet since the castle's men rode south. Supper came in smaller dishes; a messenger's hoofbeats could bring half the household to the windows.
Wylla found the leg caught in Sansa's skirt. Jon fitted it with a little glue and laid the horse on its side to dry. Sansa wanted it upright beside the other two. He showed her how it would slip and promised she could set it on the road in the morning.
"Father will want to see them when he comes home," Robb said.
Wylla folded the map along its old creases. "Then help me keep them out of the hearth." She set all three horses on the mantel, where they would be waiting for the next report.
That night, salt water ran among white roots in Jon's sleep. A driftwood crown turned upon the current. A crow watched from the pale tree. When it lowered its head, a third eye opened above its beak. Jon tried to follow its gaze, but the crown turned beneath a root and vanished. No voice came. At dawn he told Arthur while the knight helped him dress. Arthur paused with the clasp in his hand. Neither spoke again until it was fastened. At breakfast Jon looked towards Eddard's empty chair.
Denys's raven came on the fourth morning. The parchment smelled faintly of salt and smoke. Jon read the thirty-six dead and missing aloud in the shuttered solar. Robb sat beside him in an open night robe, bare feet tucked under the chair. Catelyn held Arya near the hearth and listened without interrupting.
Denys had written the men as their shipmates knew them. Captain Erryk had last been seen cutting a boat free. Perron was called Little because he was tall. Oswin One-Ear had possessed both ears. Harbert's note for his daughters stood among the wounded. Most names had kin beside them. Three did not. "What happens to their children?" Robb asked.
"Their battle shares and pay go home," Jon said. "Denys has named the kin he knows beside each name."
Robb studied the list of the dead. "Is that enough for the children?"
Jon remembered sitting across from a widow in a white-painted room, his cap in his hands while she asked the one question the prepared words did not answer. Afterward he had written down what she needed done, because sympathy had not told her how to collect her husband's things. "No," he said. "It is not."
Catelyn shifted Arya to her other shoulder. "Have you told Ethan what you want done?"
"I will write now. The families must hear from a shipmate, if one can go. He can ask after the three Denys could not place."
Robb pointed to Harbert's name. "What about him? He cannot sail."
"His pay continues," Jon said. "There may be work in the harbour store when he is well enough. If he cannot do it, Ethan is to keep paying him."
Catelyn read Harbert's injury again. "His wife will need someone to help lift him. Have Ethan see to that before he sends the man home."
Jon added it to his letter. Wylla brought hot milk and seed cakes and paused behind him to read the names. Her hand rested on his shoulder while he finished Harbert's instructions.
They worked until the morning bell. Catelyn checked the allowances against the pay roll while Jon wrote to Ethan. Beside them Robb copied the villages for the messenger, laboriously correcting a name he had begun badly.
Jon read the letter through again before folding it. There was no account of Perron's last words. He wanted to ask, and did not know whom the answer would help.
Stannis's prize award followed two weeks later. He had assigned Salt Wraith to House Black, subject to the crews' shares and the king's confirmation. The cost of taking possession and repairing her had yet to be settled. Eight of the ships that had sailed were returning; Stone Drum remained at Dragonstone under repair. Robb put eight painted hulls upon the sea and a ninth beside the island, then laid the bare wooden prize next to them.
"Will they mend her?"
"Denys will tell us." Jon left the little longship unpainted.
* * *
Eddard came home in cold rain with a Greyjoy boy beside him.
The gate horn sounded before dawn. Robb reached the inner yard with one boot unlaced and his cloak over his nightshirt. Catelyn came more slowly, Arya held beneath fur and Sansa at her hand. Jon arrived with Arthur and Wylla; the latter had made him put on stockings before allowing him out.
Northern banners entered dark with weather. Horses came leaner than they had left, their coats rough and dried foam white upon the tack. Mail showed rust at the rings. Men rode with bound arms and empty saddles among them. Eddard's cheeks had hollowed beneath his beard. Mud reached the top of his boots.
Robb ran before Hullen could stop him. Eddard swung down stiffly and caught his son against his chest. For a moment neither spoke. Then Robb began telling him everything at once: Black Gull, Arya's crying, the names he had copied for Jon, and how Sansa would not let anyone move the horses on the map. "One tale at a time," Eddard said into his hair.
"I have been saving them," Robb said.
"So I hear." Eddard kissed his hair and set him down.
He embraced Sansa, kissed Arya's red brow, and rested his forehead against Catelyn's. Jon waited until Eddard reached him. His father drew him close with one arm.
"Eight came home," Jon said against the wet cloak.
"I heard." Eddard's hand settled between his shoulders. "Denys wrote to me too."
Jon stayed where he was until Robb moved beside them.
Robb's gaze passed Jon and stopped upon the boy still mounted behind the Stark guards. He was older than any of them, perhaps ten, narrow in the face and black-haired, wearing a salt-stained cloak clasped by a little iron kraken. He sat a grey gelding as if determined not to look tired. No man held his rein, but two Stark riders remained near enough to do so. Eddard followed Robb's gaze. "Theon Greyjoy."
Jon looked towards Robb. Theon would betray him, take Winterfell and murder two boys to make the North believe its young princes dead. That was what Jon had read. Beside him, Arthur moved forward to meet the arriving guards. He had read of Arthur's death as well. Theon dismounted without help. His knees bent when his boots touched stone. He hid it quickly and made a bow that was too fine for the muddy yard. "My lord Stark."
"You are under my protection and answerable to me," Eddard said. "You will be fed, taught and housed with honour. You will keep my peace."
The words did not name the axe behind the wardship. Everyone old enough heard it. "I understand," Theon said.
Robb stepped forward. "I am Robb Stark. You may ride beside me when the rain stops."
The Greyjoy boy looked at Eddard, then back at him. "I had guessed which one you were."
"How could you know? We have never met."
"You look like your mother." Theon glanced at Robb's open boot. "And no one stopped you running past the guards."
Robb looked down, offended and impressed. "This is Jon."
"Lord Black," Theon said. His glance touched Arthur's sword and returned quickly. "The black ships were yours."
"Yes," Jon said.
Theon's mouth hardened. "They killed mine."
Jon held his gaze. "I know."
Rain ticked on the iron rim of a baggage cart. Theon's chin lifted as if he had braced for denial or triumph. Jon offered neither. Catelyn came between the silence and the watching yard. "You have ridden since midnight?"
"Near enough, my lady."
"Jory, take his horse. Robb, show him the family hall."
"I can find it, my lady."
"You do not know Winterfell yet." Catelyn waited until he bowed, then turned to the arriving servants. "Hot water in his chamber, and dry clothes."
The family hall was warm with peat smoke. Pella sent oat porridge, fried ham, brown bread, soft cheese and a dish of stewed pears. Theon ate with the wary slowness of someone determined not to seem starved. Robb talked enough for all three. Upon the map table stood the nine painted black ships and the bare longship lying on its side. Theon saw it between two bites. "That is an ironborn hull."
"Salt Wraith," Jon said. "The yard has not yet judged whether she can replace Black Gull."
The spoon stopped in Theon's hand. "Gelmarr's ship. He commanded her before my father raised his crown."
"You knew him?" Jon asked.
"I sailed with him. He let me take the steering oar when the water was quiet." Theon looked at the bare carving. "She pulled to starboard. I told him it was the ship, but he would never have it."
"Did you sail with him often?" Jon asked.
"Whenever my father allowed it." Theon turned his spoon in the bowl. "He said I could sail farther when I was older."
Jon looked at the unpainted ship. "I am sorry about him."
After a while Robb pushed the bread towards him. Theon took a piece and dipped it into the pear juice.
Eddard entered in a dry tunic, his wet hair combed but not yet tied. A fresh bandage showed above one wrist. Pella followed with beef broth, a wedge of bacon pie and dark ale. "You are hurt," Jon said.
"Only a cut." Eddard sat at the head of the table and glanced at Theon's empty bowl. "Have you had enough?"
"Aye, my lord."
Theon looked at the bacon pie when Pella set it down. She cut it into four and served him with the others.
Robb took the piece with the crispest edge. Jon expected Theon to object, but the older boy broke his portion neatly and ate the softer middle first.
"Did you see Pyke fall?" Robb asked Eddard.
"Part of it. I entered after the breach and saw the king's men take the outer ward."
"Did you fight my father?" Theon's question came too quickly to be idle, and his fingers ceased picking at the crust.
Eddard set down his spoon. "Your father yielded to the king before I entered his hall."
"And my brothers? Did you see either of them before they died?"
"Rodrik died at Seagard before I came west. Maron died upon Pyke when the south tower fell. I saw neither boy alive."
"I know where they died." Theon's fingers pressed crescent moons into the pie crust. "Did you kill either?"
"No. Neither death came by my hand."
"Would you tell me?"
"Yes."
Robb stopped chewing. Jon heard rain at the shutters and spoons in the passage. Theon kept his eyes on Eddard, waiting.
"I fought many men on Pyke," Eddard said. "I took no pleasure in the killing."
Theon's voice grew sharp. "Robert did."
Eddard let the accusation stand. He drew his ale closer, but did not drink.
"Will he kill my father if he rebels again?" Theon asked.
"Yes," Eddard said quietly.
Theon looked down at his food. "My mother said Starks are made of ice and call cruelty duty."
Robb swallowed the last of his pie. "Father cannot be ice. We have hot springs. He would melt."
Theon stared at him. A small, unwilling laugh escaped before he could stop it. Eddard finally drank. "Your mother has never met Robb."
"She is fortunate," Jon said. Robb kicked him beneath the table and found Eddard's boot instead. The lord of Winterfell raised one eyebrow. Robb withdrew his foot. Theon ate the crisp edge of the pie last. When Pella returned, all four plates were clean, though Eddard's broth had gone cold beside his hand.