Chapter 66: The Direwolf Pup
King's Landing
"Clang… Clang… Clang…"
The bells of Great Sept of Baelor rang without pause, announcing to the entire city the passing of the Hand of the King.
At the center of the sept lay Jon Arryn, resting in solemn stillness. Around him, silent sisters carefully washed the body with a mixture of vinegar and herbs, straightened his features, wrapped him in linen, and finally knelt in prayer.
Queen Cersei Lannister leaned casually against a nearby colonnade, watching the scene with unreadable eyes, her thoughts hidden behind a composed expression.
From behind, Jaime Lannister approached quietly and whispered into her ear:
"As your brother—and your lover—I feel obligated to inform you that you look very tempting right now."
He smirked. "Shall we honor Lord Jon Arryn by doing it right here, in front of him?"
Cersei shot him a sideways glance. "Do you ever think about anything? If you're not swinging a sword, you're thinking about bedding me."
"What if Jon Arryn told someone? What then?"
Jaime shrugged carelessly. "Relax. If anyone else knew, our heads would already be decorating the city walls."
"Stannis knows something," Cersei said firmly. "Lately he and Jon Arryn were meeting often—always whispering, always plotting."
"So what?" Jaime replied dismissively. "All I know is that Stannis fled back to Dragonstone with his tail between his legs and hasn't dared utter a word since."
"Whatever they were scheming, Jon Arryn is now in the arms of the Seven. As for Stannis?" Jaime scoffed. "A humorless, rigid man. Few would bother listening to him anyway."
"Robert doesn't care about such matters. He's busy searching for a new Hand so he can return to drinking, hunting, and whoring."
He leaned closer, voice low and suggestive. "And our lives will go on exactly as before."
"You're certain you don't want the position?" he teased.
Cersei rolled her eyes. "You should be Hand."
"My dear sister, spare me," Jaime said dryly. "Hands tend to die early. Are you hoping to be rid of me so you can find someone new?"
Cersei ignored his foolishness.
"I'd wager Robert chooses a wolf as his next Hand," Jaime added suddenly, a knowing look in his eyes.
Eddard rode through the Gift lands of the Night's Watch with Robb at his side. He had already reached an agreement with Lord Commander Jeor Mormont to temporarily settle the wildlings in the Gift between the Shadow Tower, Castle Black, and Queenscrown.
That way, the wildlings would be wedged between the three strongholds. Should they show the slightest sign of unrest, forces from all three directions could move at once and crush any disturbance swiftly.
"Father! Come quickly—look what I've found!" Robb shouted from ahead, then spurred his horse into the trees and vanished into the dense woods.
Eddard turned to Jory. "Let's see what my son has discovered." He urged his horse forward and followed into the forest.
Moments later, they reached Robb. In his arms was a bundle of thick gray fur, and at his feet lay the corpse of a massive beast.
"Gods be good!" Jory gasped, wrestling his nervous horse under control as he drew his sword. "Robb, you'd best stand clear of that monster."
"Don't worry, Jory. It's dead," Robb replied easily.
He tossed the wriggling bundle toward him. "They're pups."
Jory fumbled but caught the tiny creature, lifting it carefully to examine it.
Theon Greyjoy approached, staring wide-eyed at the enormous carcass. "Seven hells… what is that? A monster?"
"It's a direwolf," Eddard said gravely as he crouched beside the body to inspect it.
A stag's antler had pierced the direwolf's throat. Its belly was torn open, swarming with flies and maggots, the faint stench of decay lingering in the cold air.
"But direwolves have not been seen south of the Wall for centuries," Theon said.
"And yet here one lies," Robb answered, cradling another pup. The tiny wolf, eyes still sealed shut, whimpered softly, its small body trembling as it instinctively suckled at his little finger.
Jory glanced at the antler lodged in the wolf's neck and frowned. "My lord… this is an ill omen. I would advise killing the pups. They won't survive long anyway."
The direwolf is your house's sigil, he thought but did not say aloud.
Eddard felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest, a quickening of his heart. He drew several deep breaths of the icy air, steadying himself.
In a dream… hadn't he seen direwolves before?
Four?
Five?
"Here are more!" Robb called out again. After counting, he exclaimed excitedly, "Five in total, Father!"
Everyone fell silent. They understood what he meant. Eddard had five children—one pup for each.
Then it struck him.
In his dream, there had been six.
Eddard searched the area and soon found the last one in a shallow hollow—a pure white pup with red eyes.
A chill ran through him.
Six.
The dream had shown six.
Was it a warning? Was House Stark standing on the brink of disaster?
"Saelen Stark…"
"Direwolf…"
He murmured under his breath.
"Father?" Robb asked, noticing his strange expression.
Theon, misreading Eddard's silence as disapproval, drew his dagger. "I'll put the little beasts out of their misery."
"Put that away, Greyjoy!" Robb snapped.
"I answer to your father, not you," Theon retorted.
"Theon, stop," Eddard commanded, snapping back to himself.
"Take them with us."
He handed the white pup to Theon and turned away.
Robb's face lit with joy. He gave one pup to Jory, another to Theon, and held the remaining two in his own arms.
Theon lifted the white pup high and sneered, "A bastard for a bastard."
Robb shot him a look but said nothing more. Together they rode back.
They had scarcely returned to Castle Black when Jeor Mormont approached Eddard, his voice heavy.
"Lord Stark… a raven has arrived from King's Landing."
"Dark wings bring dark words."