A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Unlikely, they called him, born the fourth son of a fourth son. Aemon knew, and
rightly, that if he remained at court those who disliked his brother’s rule
would seek to use him, so he came to the Wall. And here he has remained, while
his brother and his brother’s son and
his
son each reigned and died
in turn, until Jaime Lannister put an end to the line of the
Dragonkings.”
    â€œKing,”
croaked the raven. The bird flapped across the solar to
land on Mormont’s shoulder.
“King,”
it said again, strutting back
and forth.
    â€œHe likes that word,” Jon said, smiling.
    â€œAn easy word to say. An easy word to like.”
    â€œKing,”
the bird said again.
    â€œI think he means for you to have a crown, my lord.”
    â€œThe realm has three kings already, and that’s two too many for my liking.”
Mormont stroked the raven under the beak with a finger, but all the while his
eyes never left Jon Snow.
    It made him feel odd. “My lord, why have you told me this,

about Maester Aemon?”
    â€œMust I have a reason?” Mormont shifted in his seat, frowning. “Your brother
Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A
king for a brother.”
    â€œAnd this too,” said Jon. “A vow.”
    The Old Bear gave a loud snort, and the raven took flight, flapping in a circle
about the room. “Give me a man for every vow I’ve seen broken and the Wall
will never lack for defenders.”
    â€œI’ve always known that Robb would be Lord of Winterfell.”
    Mormont gave a whistle, and the bird flew to him again and settled on his arm.
“A lord’s one thing, a king’s another.” He offered the raven a handful of
corn from his pocket. “They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and
velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black
ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You’ll
have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms.
Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they’ll call
Your Grace.
Singers will praise every little thing he does, while
your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you,
Jon . . . and I’ll name you a liar, and know I have the truth
of it.”
    Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. “And if it
did
trouble me,
what might I do, bastard as I am?”
    â€œWhat
will
you do?” Mormont asked. “Bastard as you
are?”
    â€œBe troubled,” said Jon, “and keep my vows.”

CATELYN
    H er son’s crown was fresh from the forge, and it seemed to Catelyn Stark
that the weight of it pressed heavy on Robb’s head.
    The ancient crown of the Kings of Winter had been lost three centuries ago,
yielded up to Aegon the Conqueror when Torrhen Stark knelt in submission. What
Aegon had done with it no man could say. Lord Hoster’s smith had done his work
well, and Robb’s crown looked much as the other was said to have looked in the
tales told of the Stark kings of old; an open circlet of hammered bronze
incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes
wrought in the shape of longswords. Of gold and silver and gemstones, it had
none; bronze and iron were the metals of winter, dark and strong to fight
against the cold.
    As they waited in Riverrun’s Great Hall for the prisoner to be brought before
them, she saw Robb push back the crown so it rested upon the thick auburn mop
of his hair; moments later, he moved it forward again; later he gave it a
quarter turn, as if that might make it sit more easily on his brow.
It is
no easy thing to wear a crown,
Catelyn thought, watching,
especially
for a boy of fifteen years.
    When the guards brought in the captive, Robb called for his sword. Olyvar Frey
offered it up hilt first, and her son drew the blade and laid it bare across
his knees, a threat plain for all to

see. “Your Grace, here is the man you asked for,” announced Ser Robin Ryger,
captain of the Tully household guard.
    â€œKneel before the king, Lannister!” Theon Greyjoy shouted. Ser Robin forced
the prisoner to his knees.
    He did not look a lion, Catelyn reflected. This Ser Cleos Frey was a son of the
Lady Genna who was sister to Lord Tywin Lannister, but he had none of the
fabled Lannister beauty,