The practice clock stood under a slatted ash cover at the end of Winterfell's family table. It ticked steadily enough in the warm hall, but had lost nearly a quarter of an hour overnight. Jon had been adjusting it since before dawn. He spread butter on his oatbread while Robb crouched beside the horn dial.
"It is slow again."
"I moved the lead weights too far out."
"Move them back."
"Half as far. Olyver is trying it after breakfast."
Sansa leaned over her stewed apple, the white napkin tucked into the neck of her blue gown. An auburn curl brushed the spoon, and she pushed it impatiently behind her ear. "Does it know when breakfast is finished?"
"It will when I do," Jon said, drawing his plate nearer.
Robb grinned through the gap left by his front tooth.
At the high end, Eddard hid a smile in his cup. Catelyn did not bother hiding hers. She was cutting Sansa's cheese into smaller pieces and listening to Vayon Poole murmur about the morning's stores. Arthur ate at Jon's right hand, breaking his fast with black bread, a boiled egg, and the watchful quiet he brought even to porridge. Wylla came from behind Jon with a jug of small beer. She touched the back of two fingers to his neck, then frowned. "You were up before the kitchen fires," she said.
"I wanted to see what the cold did to the oil."
"And now you have seen it." Wylla drew a pale lock back from his eye and filled his cup. "There is more bread if you want it."
Jon took another spoonful of porridge. The oats had grown thick while he watched the clock, but the honey was still warm. Arthur pushed the bread nearer and began peeling his boiled egg.
The little hammer lifted and struck its thin bell with a mournful clink. Robb winced. "It sounds like Tobben's burnt porridge."
"Porridge is quiet," Sansa said.
"You have never heard Tobben swear at it."
Arthur wiped his knife and rose. "The colt will be waiting."
Robb looked up at once. Eddard gave the knight a reproachful glance, then set down his cup.
"I meant to show you after breakfast, Jon. Hullen has brought him into the yard."
Robb was off the bench first. Jon caught up at the door, still fastening his cloak. In the yard a black colt stood at the end of Harwin's lead rope.
He was not beautiful. Not yet. His hindquarters had grown higher than his withers, his knees looked borrowed from a larger horse, and rain had roughened the yearling coat into black-brown whorls. Mud dried grey upon both hocks. A chip marred the outer wall of one rear hoof. He chewed the rope, lost it when Harwin pulled it away, and reached for it again.
The ungainly colt brought back a picture from a book on Alexander: a great dark horse with its head turned towards the sun. Jon had spent a pleasant afternoon arguing that picture's finer points with a fellow enthusiast who knew horses better than painters. He knew perfectly well that the animal before him was a yearling with muddy hocks. He liked the name nevertheless. "Whose is he?" Robb asked.
Eddard stood beside Hullen under the stable arch. His long face was solemn, but the grey eyes had warmed. "Jon's."
The colt found Harwin's sleeve and pulled. "Mine?" Jon said.
"A late nameday gift. Hullen sent back the first three offered."
"Two ponies and a barrel wearing a mane," Hullen said. The master of horse took the wet sleeve from the colt's mouth. "One foundered, one cow-hocked, one stuffed with feed to hide a poor frame. This one is not ruined yet."
"His breeding?" Jon asked.
"The dam carried a Barrowton knight until a cart lamed her. Part garron, with good bone. The dealer named a Ryswell courser as sire." Hullen snorted. "Horse traders know more fathers than septons."
Eddard's gaze remained on Jon. "Do you like him?"
Jon looked at the untidy black colt, the hay in his forelock and the bright eye following every movement in the yard.
"Yes," he said. He stepped closer, smiling despite himself. "Very much."
Eddard crouched beside him, one hand resting on the back of his head. "He will have grown into those legs by the time you can ride him."
"Thank you, Father."
The colt tugged at Harwin's sleeve again. Jon laughed and went to untangle the cloth from his teeth.
Robb hurried towards them with both hands out. Hullen caught his shoulder before he reached the colt's face.
"Slowly, my lord. He is still strange here."
Jon stood beside Harwin and held out the back of his hand. The colt's ears flicked between the boys. His nostrils widened over Jon's fingers, warm breath stirring the cuff, before his whiskered lip brushed the healing cut beside Jon's thumb.
"He likes you," Robb whispered.
"He is looking for food." Jon stroked the dark neck. Under the rough yearling coat he felt warmth and lean muscle. The colt stretched towards his sleeve, and Jon moved it out of reach.
Eddard asked, "Have you a name for him?"
"Bucephalus. It belonged to a king's warhorse in an old eastern tale."
Robb tried the name twice and swallowed a different half each time. "Boose-falus. That is too much name for one horse."
"Bucephalus," Jon corrected. Eddard asked which king, and Jon felt Arthur's pale eyes settle upon him. "The king's name was lost in the telling. The horse was remembered."
Jon hoped no one would ask him to find that eastern tale in Luwin's books. Eddard rubbed the colt's damp forehead. "Bucephalus, then."
Hullen took the rope. "He will answer to the grain scoop sooner than that, my lord. You can begin handling him now, but he will need another two years before you ride him. Perhaps three."
"I will come down tomorrow."
"Harwin will have a brush ready."
"Did you brush your own horse?" Robb asked Eddard.
"When Hullen could catch me."
"He preferred the riding," Hullen said. "Your uncle Brandon was worse."
Eddard laughed and rose from beside Jon. The knees of his grey wool were wet, and a strand of damp hair had fallen across his brow. Jon kept one hand on the colt while his father showed him where the coat would shed first as the weather warmed.
* * *
At dawn Jon helped Harwin carry water to the tack-room trough. Harwin filled his bucket only halfway; even so, some slopped over Jon's boot on the uneven stones. He set it down beside the brushes and shook the wet mitten from his hand.
"Next time I will take the smaller one."
"Aye, my lord." Harwin hung his own bucket on its peg. "It is behind the door."
Hullen put a wooden currycomb into Jon's hand and opened the stall beside Bucephalus's. An old grey mare stood within, one eye clouded and the near foreleg stiff until she moved. "Moonsong. She taught your father."
"I have Moth."
"Moth walks to the feed bin and back. You are ready to learn more than that."
Jon ran a hand down the mare's legs and found no heat. He lifted her feet for Harwin, brushed the mud from her shoulder and helped set the saddle blanket with the hair. Moonsong stood patiently through all of it. She was much taller than Moth.
Robb came to the fence with half a honey cake. "Can you reach?"
"There is a block."
"Father did not need a block."
"Your father is taller," Hullen said. "He needed one at your age."
Harwin steadied the far stirrup while Jon mounted from the block. The saddle was much higher than Moth's, and he took a moment to settle his feet before gathering the reins.
"Do you need me to lead you?" Robb asked.
"Finish your cake."
At a walk Moonsong answered readily. Jon took her round the yard, finding the longer stride, then brought her back towards Hullen. The master of horse asked for a few strides of trot. Harwin brought Bucephalus out to the fence while Hullen watched the mare.
The change jolted Jon hard against the saddle. He kept his hands low, but one foot slipped from its stirrup and he had to bring the mare back to a walk to find it.
Robb laughed so hard that half his honey cake fell into the mud. Bucephalus, standing beside Harwin at the rail, stretched down and took it before either could move.
Jon looked over his shoulder. "You dropped something."
Robb stared at the colt chewing. There was nothing to be done about it.
On the next circuit Jon managed the trot for longer. Hullen showed him when to rise, and he began to find the rhythm before his legs tired. He walked Moonsong back to the mounting block and let Hullen take her. By then Robb was asking for his turn.
After the stable came Luwin's sums and the sword yard. Arthur put a wicker shield on Jon's left arm and an ash sword in his right. Across the yard Robb waited with Ser Rodrik, walking rather stiffly after his own ride.
Arthur began slowly. Jon caught the first cut on the shield, stepped in and struck towards the knight's thigh. Arthur turned his blade aside and touched him on the ribs where the shield had drifted wide.
"Keep it with you as you step."
They tried the exchange again. This time Jon covered his ribs and made Arthur shift his leading foot before the return cut. On the third pass the shield stayed close without a reminder. Arthur changed the angle. Jon caught that too, then lost the next blow because he tried to answer before his feet were set. Rodrik had stopped correcting Robb to watch. The knight increased the pace, and the wicker rim knocked against Jon's wrist at every blow.
"Dead," Robb called when Arthur caught him.
Ser Rodrik promptly tapped Robb's unguarded belly. Jon looked across the yard and grinned. His brother turned back to his own opponent.
They worked until the afternoon light reached the armoury doors. Two stable lads lingered by the rail with a bridle between them. When Jon repeated the turn Arthur had shown him only once, the elder nudged the other and lifted his chin towards the little shield. Arthur saw them watching. He gave Jon a different attack, then another, until the boy had to think instead of repeat. When Jon's shield arm began to shake, he called a halt.
Jon lowered the shield. He could see the opening he had missed, but his arm ached too much to try again.
Eddard came down from the gallery as Jon returned the wooden sword to its rack.
"Are you coming to dinner?"
"Aye. Olyver is keeping the clock's count."
His father waited while he unbuckled the shield strap. "How did Moonsong carry you?"
Robb called from behind, "She stopped when I wanted to trot!"
Eddard's mouth moved. "She has kept the trick all these years."
At dinner, Jon fell asleep with a spoon in his fist. He woke upon Eddard's shoulder halfway up the stair. Torchlight moved across the grey stone. His cheek rested against rough wool that smelled of smoke, rain and horse. "The crown tooth catches," he murmured.
"Tell Olyver in the morning."
Jon meant to answer, but his eyes closed against his father's shoulder.
* * *
Voices woke him later. His chamber door stood open a finger's breadth. Firelight crossed the rushes in the outer room. Wylla had undressed him and put him beneath two wool blankets; his riding breeches hung over the chair, one knee streaked with stable dirt.
"Hullen had him trotting today," Arthur said outside.
"I saw how he walked at dinner," Eddard answered.
"He takes a correction faster than boys twice his age." Arthur paused. "And I should have shortened the yard lesson. We will give him an easier day tomorrow."
Jon turned beneath the blanket and the rubbed skin along his thigh burned. He made a small involuntary sound. Wylla opened the door at once.
"Awake?" She set a steaming cup beside him. "I have salve, if you will stop wriggling long enough."
Eddard followed her in. He sat on the bed while she eased the blanket back and examined the raw patch.
"The saddle caught him," she said. "Nothing torn."
Jon caught his father watching Arthur. "I wanted to do both."
"You may want things your legs cannot manage yet." Eddard brushed the hair from his damp forehead. "Mine have given me trouble enough after a long ride."
"You sat a saddle all the way from Dorne."
"And complained every night. We rode hard, with few days' rest," Arthur said.
"Was it worse than this?" Jon asked.
"Your father may prefer not to answer that," Arthur told him. Eddard gave the knight a weary look.
Wylla warmed the salve between her fingers. "Hold still now, love. This will sting."
Jon hissed as the ointment touched the raw skin. Eddard held his hand until it eased.
"Why were you in such a hurry?" Jon asked Arthur.
"We had no wish to be stopped."
"You rode as though the king himself were behind you," Wylla said.
"He might have been." The answer changed the room. Arthur looked at Eddard, who kept his hand around Jon's.
Jon watched them both. "Did he want you back in King's Landing?"
"He would have liked it," Eddard said. "There was much still to be settled."
"Did you not want to stay?"
"I wanted to bring you home."
Aemon. Jon could still hear the name through the confusion of those first days. He had been called something else before Eddard brought him north. He kept the memory to himself, and his father waited only for an answer about Winterfell.
"I am glad you did." Jon tightened his hold upon Eddard's hand.
Eddard drew him gently against his side. Arthur stood at the foot of the bed, looking at neither of them for a moment. Then he brought the cup within reach.
"Tomorrow," Wylla said, "you can tell me whether Bucephalus has learned to keep his teeth out of Harwin's sleeve."
"No." Jon drank. "He likes Harwin."
"An unfortunate way of showing it." She stayed after the men left, rubbing the remaining salve into her own work-cracked hands. Jon fell asleep with his head against her knee.
* * *
Over the next twelve mornings Jon became a familiar presence in the stable. He came with his cloak still fastened against the chill, before sunlight reached the high windows. The horses stood in a warm haze of breath while boys shook out fresh straw and Hullen measured their feed. Harwin kept the soft brush on a shelf low enough for Jon to reach.
Bucephalus learned to stand for it and to follow him to the paddock without snatching at his sleeve. Jon worked down the long black neck, watching an ear turn towards the sound of his voice. Loose hair came away in soft clumps. He had to reach to brush the top of the shoulder; by the time he had finished both sides, his own shoulders were warm beneath the wool.
Harwin remained close when Jon worked about the colt's feet. The young horse could be quiet for half an hour, then fling up his head at a swallow in the rafters. On those mornings Jon waited beside the stall door until the groom brought him round again. Once the colt pressed his nose into Jon's chest and stood there breathing through the cloth. Jon scratched beneath the mane until Hullen called that Moonsong was saddled.
Jon practised the stable hitch on a spare length of rope. He knew the knot, but it was awkward to tie above his own head. When Harwin lifted him to the ring, he caught the groom's shoulder.
"Hold still."
"I am trying, my lord."
"You are laughing."
"Beg pardon." Harwin steadied him until the rope lay right.
On Moonsong, Jon could now trot a full circuit without losing his stirrups. Hullen had him ride with one hand on his hip and the other holding the reins, then change hands on the next turn. Robb copied him from the rail until Ser Rodrik called his name.
After riding, Jon ate cold beef with mustard, a boiled onion and two slices of bread before going to the clock room.
That afternoon the crown wheel ran through half a small sandglass before beginning to lose time. Jon lifted the hammer clear and watched the movement recover. The train was wasting too much of the weight's pull in friction; with the hammer attached it had barely enough left to run.
He had Mikken polish the pivots and try the thinner arbor the smith had brought. They would reduce the drag before adding more weight. Olyver set the glass beside the frame and began another count.
Bucephalus was less predictable. One morning he let Jon lift his forefoot, only to pull it away as Harwin handed over the pick. Jon let go before the hoof came down beside his boot. He rubbed his wrist while Harwin finished cleaning the foot.
The following morning Jon felt angry before he reached the stall. He had slept well and eaten hot bread, ham crisp at the edges and soft eggs, yet the swallows rasped above him and Harwin's breathing irritated him beyond reason. Arthur was waiting by the open door, and Hullen was measuring oats in the aisle. Bucephalus flinched beneath the currycomb. A fly settled on the colt's belly, and Jon felt its bite on his own skin.
He put down the comb. "Harwin, stand back. Something is wrong."
The groom reached towards him, meaning to help him through the half-door. Jon recoiled. For a moment he wanted the hand, the walls and the whole low roof gone.
"Do not touch me!"
His shout sent Bucephalus rearing against the half-door. Harwin stumbled over the broom and struck the manger as he moved aside. Arthur caught Jon beneath the arms and carried him out. Hullen took the colt's halter, opened the door wider and brought him into the aisle. "Out, Harwin." The groom crawled clear while Hullen led the horse on towards the yard.
Hullen walked with the colt until the lead slackened and his head dropped. Jon's anger vanished as abruptly as it had come. Harwin stood rubbing blood from one knuckle.
"I frightened him," Jon said.
"You frightened me," Harwin answered. "Then the broom finished it."
Jon looked at the fallen broom, then at the cut hand. "I am sorry."
Harwin nodded. Hullen pointed towards the tack room, and Arthur took Jon there before the colt could hear another raised voice.
Among the saddles Jon told him about the fly's bite and the swallows shrilling inside his skull. Arthur waited until he finished.
"Like the raven?"
"I did not see through him. I felt him."
"Has it happened since the raven?"
"Not like this." Jon rubbed the place where he had felt the fly bite. "I will stay outside the stall until I know what happened."
For the next few days Jon stayed outside the stall, talking to Bucephalus while Hullen handled him. He could still feel the memory of the fly bite, but the anger did not return. Arthur told Hullen that Jon had been troubled by a headache. Hullen accepted that, though he kept a closer eye on both boy and colt.
* * *
A moon later, Jon was leading Bucephalus across the yard when the rail holding the washline tore loose behind the tack room. Hullen walked beside him, his hand on the lead above Jon's. Harwin was at the colt's shoulder; Arthur stood near the gate. Beyond the paddock Robb rode Moonsong beneath Catelyn's eye.
The crack came sharp as a branch breaking. Jon did not hear it first. Bucephalus did. The colt's left ear snapped back, and Jon turned with it. For one instant the yard remained stone, cloud, grey mare, black coat. Then the world struck him through nostrils wide enough to drink the wind.
Old straw. Oiled leather. Mud. Mare. Men's salt fear. A white cloth billowed around the wall. It had no head and no living scent, only a great pale belly that leapt and cracked. Run.
Four legs gathered beneath him. The black body hurled itself backward. At the same instant Jon's two heels dug into stone and his knees folded because they expected a strength and balance they did not possess. Arthur caught him.
Being lifted made the panic worse. The ground fell away. Jon kicked for hind legs that were not there and struck Arthur's thigh. "Down!"
Arthur dropped to one knee and held him there. Behind the knight, Hullen gave ground with the colt while Harwin caught the loose cloth and dragged it clear.
"Jon. Look at me."
The horse's panic crowded out the voice. Jon felt four feet scrape for purchase; his own knees bruised against the stone. He caught Arthur's collar with both hands and forced his eyes up to the familiar face.
"I have you," Arthur said.
Jon could feel the wool between his fingers. He held it tighter. The yard slowly settled around him: two knees on the ground, Arthur's arm across his back, blood in his mouth where he had bitten his tongue.
Jon spat blood into the mud. At the paddock Catelyn held Moonsong's rein while Jory reached for Robb. Two grooms stood between them and the colt. "Take him inside," she ordered.
"I want Jon," Robb said, twisting against Jory's arm.
"Go with Jory. I will see to him."
Jon tried to reassure Robb, but the words came thickly around his bitten tongue. His brother saw the blood and began to cry. Jory lifted him from Moonsong and carried him towards the keep.
Catelyn examined Jon's head and the skin behind his ears. Her touch was careful, her blue eyes intent upon the injury. She did not gather him against her as she had Robb.
"Were you struck?"
"No, my lady. I bit my tongue."
"Did he fall before the horse pulled him?" she asked Hullen.
"As the colt shied, my lady. I still had the lead."
"I was after the cloth," Harwin said. "I did not see him fall."
Catelyn looked at Arthur. "This has happened before."
"In the nursery, with the raven," Arthur said.
"Luwin called that a fit."
"Aye." Arthur wiped Jon's mouth with the clean corner of his sleeve. "He needs to sit."
Catelyn looked towards the arch where Jory had carried Robb. Hullen still held the colt turned away from them.
"And the headache?" Hullen asked Arthur. "Was that the same?"
"The beginning of it, perhaps. I should have told you."
Hullen glanced at his son, who had laid the torn washline beside the wall. "Aye, ser."
"Harwin, fetch Lord Stark and the maester," Catelyn said. "Jon, sit down."
Eddard arrived at a near run, slowing only when he saw Jon on the mounting block with Luwin beside him. He knelt and put both hands on Jon's shoulders.
"Robb said the horse had kicked you."
"No. Arthur caught me."
Luwin drew back the cloth from Jon's mouth and showed Eddard the bitten tongue. Arthur described the rearing colt and catching Jon before he fell. The maester asked whether Jon had felt faint before the horse moved.
"I cannot tell." Jon could still smell the mare across the yard, impossibly clear. He kept that to himself. "It happened quickly."
For a moment Hullen said nothing. He stroked the colt's neck with his free hand.
"If you feel faint, my lord, give me the rope before it takes your feet from under you."
"I will."
"The colt stays in Hullen's hands," Eddard said. "And Robb rides in the other yard for now."
Wylla arrived with Jon's cloak bundled in her arms. At the blood on his collar she stopped so sharply that Harwin had to step aside.
"His tongue," Luwin told her. "He bit it."
Wylla knelt in front of Jon. She made him open his mouth, looked at the torn place, then drew his cloak around his shoulders. Her hands shook while she fastened it.
"I am all right," Jon said.
"Let me look." Wylla felt along his ribs beneath the cloak. When he shook his head to say that did not hurt, she let out a long breath. Jon leaned against her, and her arm tightened about his shoulders.
Hullen and Harwin led the colt back to his stall. Catelyn went to find Robb, while Eddard took Jon upstairs to the little shuttered solar above the tack room. Arthur, Wylla and Luwin followed. The maester had Jon sit where the light fell upon his face.
Eddard kept one hand on his shoulder through the examination. "Your head?"
"It aches."
"And your sight?" Luwin asked.
Jon looked at the narrow window, where the latch stood out black against the sky. "Clear now."
The maester watched him follow a finger and asked him to stand. His legs obeyed this time. Wylla remained close enough to catch him.
"He will rest this afternoon," Luwin said. "Soft food until the tongue heals. Call me if he is sick again." He gathered his things and left for the rookery.
Eddard waited while Jon settled back upon the bench. From the yard came Hullen's voice and a long scrape of hooves. Jon turned towards it before he could stop himself.
"The horse is well," his father said. "You may leave him to Hullen for an afternoon."
"I will."
Wylla loosened the cloak at his throat and gave him a little water. He swallowed carefully, favouring the bitten side.
A bowl scraped against the door outside. Arthur opened it and found Robb with honey custard in both hands, his head suspiciously close to the wood.
"I was bringing this," he said.
"With your ear?"
"Both hands were full." He gave the custard to Jon, who could scarcely swallow it with his swollen tongue. Robb ate half in brotherly assistance.
Later, when Eddard had taken Robb back to lessons and Wylla went to fetch clean linen, Jon caught Arthur's sleeve.
"I was in the horse," he said quietly. "I could not find my way out."
Arthur sat on the bench beside him. "I thought so."
Arthur looked towards the shutter. "And the man in your dreams?"
"I see him sometimes. He has told me very little since the raven."
"Has he shown you how to leave the horse?"
"No. I shall ask him, if he comes again."
"If he tells you how to come back, I need to hear it too."
"You shall."
Arthur stayed beside him until Wylla returned. She found Jon asleep against his arm, the empty custard bowl still upon the bench.
In sleep, Bucephalus stood among the white roots. His halter hung empty. Jon could feel the horse's unease before he saw the pale man beneath the tree.
"You have a warg's gift and no more sense than the beast you enter," the man said. "You might have broken your neck."
Jon kept his face still. He knew the word. He let a little time pass before asking, "What is a warg?"
"Wargs wear the skins of wolves. You have begun with other beasts."
"I have a horse. Tell me how to leave him."
The red eye narrowed. "You are in a hurry to choose the lesson."
"I was on the ground with blood in my mouth. You know about this. Who are you?"
"Brynden Rivers."
"Will you help me, Brynden Rivers?"
The roots stirred between them. Jon reached for the arm he could feel beneath his cheek and woke upon the bench.
Arthur was still there. Wylla had taken the bowl away, and the door was shut. Jon told him the name, then repeated what the man had called him.
"Bloodraven," Arthur said. "He vanished beyond the Wall."
"He is there when I sleep." Jon sat up carefully. "He still would not tell me how to come back."
Arthur listened until he had repeated every word he could recall.
* * *
For three mornings Jon remained outside Bucephalus's stall. On the fourth, with Arthur beside the door and Hullen holding the colt, he went in with the soft brush. Warm breath passed over his hair. He waited, listening to the ordinary sounds of the stable. Nothing drew him away.
He brushed the shoulder and withers, working the loose hair from the coat until the bristles clogged. Bucephalus lowered his head. Jon emptied the brush into Harwin's bucket and began on the other side.
For all the fright, he still remembered how strong the colt's body had felt. He wanted to understand it. Harwin stood within reach of the hooves, however, and he would make no attempt here.
When the grooming was done, he helped Hullen lead Bucephalus out to the paddock. The colt followed quietly, stopping once to nose at a tuft of grass between the stones.
Outside, Eddard waited beside his saddled grey. Robb was already on Apple, with Jory holding the lead. "The kingsroad is dry enough to the first watchtower," Eddard said. "Will you ride?"
Jon looked once at the clock room window, then gave the brush to Harwin. "Aye, Father."
Eddard mounted and Hullen lifted Jon behind him. Jon settled with his arms around his father's waist. Robb chattered ahead about beating them to the gate. Arthur mounted the bay beside them, and Wylla called from the steps that they were all to return before the beef pie went cold.
They rode beneath Winterfell's grey walls at a walk, Bucephalus watching from the paddock until the turn of the road hid him.
Beyond the gate, yesterday's rain lay in every wheel rut. Eddard's grey took the raised crown of the road. Jon tightened his arms when the horse stepped over a hollow; ahead, Robb complained whenever Jory's lead went taut.
"Woods tells me you want another apprentice," Eddard said.
"Two, eventually. Olyver can make the wheels, but he cannot do all the work once people begin buying clocks."
"Do you expect many buyers?"
"If it keeps good time. A lord will want one when his neighbour has it." Jon could picture the orders more easily than the hands needed to fill them. "I will need men I can take to Dragonstone."
"Will Woods part with him?" Arthur asked. His bay drew even along the firmer verge.
"I shall ask them both before I make any promise," Jon said.
Robb twisted in his saddle. "I can teach them to count the teeth."
"Provided they do not eat the peas," Jon said.
"They may use stones."
Eddard laughed. Jon felt it through the wool at his back and rested his cheek there while Robb told Jory about the wheel with one tooth missing.
At the watchtower they dismounted. A guard came down with bread and a jug of ale for his lord, apologising that he had nothing finer. Eddard took a piece, asked after the road and listened while the man described a fallen beech farther north. Robb walked round the tower with Arthur, looking for a stair to the roof. There was none outside. He came back to ask whether the ladder within was as high as it looked.
"Higher when you are coming down," Arthur said.
Jon sat beside his father on the low wall. From here he could see the smoke above Winterfell without seeing the castle itself. A breeze stirred the white hair at his temple, and he tucked it behind his ear to keep it out of his mouth. Eddard broke the bread again and gave him the softer middle.
Robb returned with a pinecone which he maintained had been nibbled by a wolf. Jory suggested a squirrel. Robb appealed to his father, then Arthur, without finding a more satisfactory answer. Jon took it and pointed to the small paired bites. Robb examined them, disappointed for only a moment before deciding there might still be wolves beyond the next ridge.
They rode home with the pinecone in Eddard's saddlebag. Jon was hungry by the time the gates came into sight, and his legs had grown stiff from sitting behind the saddle. Wylla's beef pie still steamed beneath its brown crust. Robb put his find beside his trencher and told Sansa that they had nearly gone looking for wolves.