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