Crows and ravens cawed loudly as the warriors and their horses fought their way through the maze of swamp beneath their nest in the tree canopy. In the swamp forest, in the hidden thicket of the Green Branch, in the cool, dawn mist, every step was dangerous and uncertain. In the long, tall grass, Jon Snow and Casta's feet sometimes sank to their ankles. The dawn sky was still dark, and the glowing light of the sun was hidden somewhere behind the hills of the royal forest. The faint stars shone like brilliant jewels above the dark mound of the High Heart, as if they were invisible sentinels of a distant land. Horses and grey, pointed-horned cattle, the livestock prepared for feasting, were brought across the Three Rivers in seventeen deregages, sailing boats and long boats. They brought silver and gold vases, plates, ornamental swords, goblets, robes and crowns. All these eye-catching treasures will soon be brought to King's Landing, and the lids of their chests will be sealed by craftsmen.
- "The Targaryens all rest there!" said Casta, riding beside Jon Snow, quietly, when the procession had approached the Lannister castle enough to see the red and black faces of the dragon kings' tombs on top. - And we will also rest here after we become kings.
Jon Snow said nothing.
- 'Only our bodies,' he said at last.
Casta nodded and squinted.
- Only our bodies.
It was impossible to approach the castle from horseback because of the sinking ground. From the outside, the castle looked like a burial mound, but it was the gateway to the realm of the Seven Kingdoms, with the statue of the Conqueror at the top. Indeed, the Tomb of the Dragon Kings rose like a mountain above the foliage of the highest trees in the royal forest and the lower hills, the tombs of rulers and warlords. Robb Stark rode at the very front, surrounded by the knights, the oxen and horses led on bridles by Eddard's loyal men. Above, at the top of the castle, beneath the roughly carved arms of the stone statues, they held a great iron bowl. Into these the septons would pour the oil, or drip the sacrificial animal blood, when all was done. Jon Snow paused for a moment before the majestic statues. Their faces had simple carvings for eyes, deep lines for the nose and mouth, and their necks ended in a shapely stone head. It was a strange feeling to face the Targaryen ancestors. Would he ever live up to them? Behind him he heard the voice of Ser Rodrik, with his long, grey hair, approaching, surrounded by his men, along the beaten paths of the forest, singing softly through the trees. Jon Snow liked them. When they all arrived in the clear fields outside the castle, the commander of the Royal Guard, a straight-backed man with a wrinkled neck, placed snow-white cloaks over the shoulders of the men in uniform. Casta received the gesture with a shudder.
- We join the ranks of the knights in white robes.
Jon Snow looked at Casta.
- Are you sure about that?
- 'Our father said so,' Casta nodded, 'so you are sure!
Robert approached, bowing his head reverently to the royal statues.
- 'Stand ready, sons of Eddard,' he said, coming to a halt before them, 'the spirit of my Helper is watching you, from the Otherworld.
Lady Stark nodded as she stepped up beside them. Her face was pale, her eyes long as she looked after the knights as they left, singing.
- You are old enough to take your share in the affairs of the realm.
- 'We are ready, mother,' said Robb.
- 'They say there's a man in town who paints the tombs with blood every night,' said Jon Snow, after Robert and his retinue had gone on their way. - I would like to see the septon bless our weapons before the animal sacrifice.
Casta shook his head.
- What makes you think he's human and not the Others?
Jon Snow furrowed his eyebrows.
- 'The Others do not sacrifice to the dead. It is said by the Septons, the dragon spirits that dwell in statues, that they burn to death in their dreams those who disturb the rest of kings.
- 'They are watching us too,' said Casta. We cannot take a single step without our ancestors watching us. Robb must perform the horse sacrifice perfectly to satisfy our father. We must make no mistakes.
Jon Snow's eyes went wide.
- We will make no mistakes! You can be sure of that, brother.
With springy steps, Robert hurried up the staircase on the side of the castle's sanctuary, where Robb, Jon and Casta could not follow. The king's crown of black antlers glittered against the grey rock blocks of the statues from a distance. Robert reached the broad roof, bowing to it as he bowed to the septon. Behind him stood other septons, in black-and-red painted wooden masks, wearing long, braided robes with bird feathers, holding animal bones in their hands. One by one, they knelt and prostrated seven times before each statue, while others led a bull with blood-stained horns. Robert bowed to the animal as if in greeting. He raised his long-bladed sword, gripped it with both hands and swung it seven times. One by one, the septons lit the seven iron braziers on the castle roof, and a pungent smoke rose. The bull snorted and beat the ground with his hooves. A big horn could have easily pierced a man's chest. Jon Snow put his hands over his eyes to see clearly. This beast, if it broke its chains, could stamp the king into the ground, and if the gods were displeased with the sacrifice, or the septons lost any of the ritual order, anything could happen. The pointed horns circled in a wide arc in front of one of the septons hurrying to the stake, who had to jump back quickly to avoid his doom. The bull suddenly jerked his head and gave a squealing yelp. Robert stepped towards him with a light movement. Before the animal could spit him up, he cut across his muscular, black neck. He stabbed his sword into its side as if to check the hardness of its internal organs. The bred beast stared into space with a glassy stare. Robert's mouth moved, but if he said anything, Jon Snow could not hear it from this distance. The bull now made a sudden move, Robert dodged the bull's head charging from the right with the skill of a sword dancer. It was all in a moment, the man had only seen a flash. The animal crashed to the ground with a painful roar, a pool of blood spurting from its severed neck, the septons immediately running to catch the gushing blood in their deep clay pots. The king, in a single motion, stabbed the beast through the heart, and drawing back his sword, slashed the animal's neck. Seven times in succession the horn sounded, and the three of them at last ascended to the top of the castle. Jon Arryn's body, placed in a coffin decorated with gold plates, was brought in a slow procession by the Night's Watch and lowered by chains into the pile of treasure, weapons, shields and horse tack already piled in the previously opened tomb. Some of Eddard's loyal men arrived with new weapons. The largest bow was light in Robb Stark's hands, like a child's tool bent from a reed. It was a good Southern fighting weapon, as supple as a bunch of grape vines, yet strong. Its wood was cured in the blood of wild boars, and the finest horses from his father's royal stud farm provided their own bones and horns for its bone covering. The bow had been made by the finest craftsmen during the long winter for the king's firstborn son, but he had not been able to shoot it until this day. When he and his father's illegitimate sons were practising riding in the royal pasture of the Godswood, the blunt-tipped arrow shot from his horse hit the horsemen's leather shields so hard that Eddard said his Northern Ancestor was guiding his eyes, his hands, his heart. Robert, staggering down the steps of the shrine, approached them. His hand was still filthy with bull's blood when he laid it on Robb's shoulder.
- Now it's your turn, Starks!
Casta said nothing, wiping the bow so that the bone structure of the bow would shine.
- 'We will not disappoint you,' nodded Robb, 'you can trust us, my king!
There was a look of recognition on Robert's fat piggy face.
- Never pity the enemy! 'These traitors will all die now,' said Robert, 'because when they took up arms against us and surrendered, they were too attached to their lives. They were prisoners of my Helper, and now, after his death, they will be his servants in the other world.
- 'We know,' said Jon Snow, 'that your Helper will gladly accept this sacrifice in the Otherworld.
Robert turned away for a moment, saying something to one of his men. Jon Snow, looking at the broad, delicately wrought ornamental blood, wondered what his father's men would do if he shot the king through with his bow. Would there be enough warriors among his father's followers to stand by them if he and Casta refused the order of the usurper who was now taking everything they had? Would they even rise up against Tywin Lannister if led by Eddard's sons? Robert could easily charm and kill that bull, he can rule over men. By the time Robert turned back, his retinue and his aide's old men were at his side. Jon Snow looked up. The multitude of slaves led up to the top of the shrine looked like a faceless grey boulder in the firelight. The stairway to the shrine was not long. The prisoners to be executed were not tied, yet none of them tried to escape. Jon Snow was certain that they had been made to drink poppy milk not long before, one of the secret brews of the septons that can either strengthen or paralyse the sensation of pain. It is as if they were not people, but puppets sewn from rags. The fires flared as the septons threw acrid-smelling roots into the braziers and the young men lined up. Indifferent to the intoxicating drink, the condemned were like the shadows of the undead before the three Stark princes. Bows were drawn. Casta also fitted an arrow and fired again. Jon Snow was the first of the three to hit the target. Only one remained standing at last. The prisoner with the shaved head and dark eyes must have been a Volantis warrior. He was desperate for his life. He had arrows sticking out of his thigh and shoulder, losing a lot of blood, but straining the muscles of his iron arms as he tried to rise from the pile of bodies. Finally he managed to crawl to his feet and stand upright, his legs trembling. He murmured something in a strange, unfamiliar language. Jon Snow could feel the black eyes on him, looking him straight in the eye. He had the look of a hawk. He was unaffected by the poppy milk. Jon Snow put down his bow. No one raised his sword at the standing slave in the silence. Robert stepped out of the crowd, moving with quick strides past the mutilated bodies. He kicked out the prisoner's legs, his right knife flashing, and with a decisive movement he slit the slave's throat. The stocky body sprawled without a sound, its chest instantly reddening as blood spurted in jets from the gaping wound in its neck. The flames of the fires seemed to dance in the blackened, bulging eyes.
- "The gods have accepted the sacrifice," said the king in an impassive tone as he walked back.
The young men lowered their bows and listened in tense silence. Robb bowed his head to the king, who threw down a knife stained with the prisoner's blood. He knew he would never pick up that knife again. On the castle roof, the bonfire was already blazing, lit by the septons. Jon Snow could still see the chief septon standing at the top of the castle, as still as a great rock. The shadow of the lean, olive-brown-skinned man grew huge, as if he himself had become a shadow of the dead in the fading starlight. The sun rose in a crimson glow in the lower sky and over the dark hills. The clouds slowly gathered in the sky, and clouds of thunder began to break up, as if an invisible dragon's wing were chasing the army of the dead. When the first rays of the sun touched the castle tower, the king cried out three times.
- The Iron Throne is indestructible! The new Dragon King has risen! All hail the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms!