A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Riverrun tonight, I wonder?”
    Catelyn could hear faint music drifting from the Great Hall, seeping out into
the night. She dare not count the stars.
    â€œI’m told your son crossed the Neck with twenty thousand swords at his
back,” Renly went on. “Now that the lords of the Trident are with him,
perhaps he commands forty thousand.”
    No,
she thought,
not near so many, we have lost men in battle,
and others to the harvest.
    â€œI have twice that number here,” Renly said, “and this is only part of my
strength. Mace Tyrell remains at Highgarden with another ten thousand, I have a
strong garrison holding Storm’s End, and soon enough the Dornishmen will join
me with all their power. And never forget my brother Stannis, who holds
Dragonstone and commands the lords of the narrow sea.”
    â€œIt would seem that you are the one who has forgotten Stannis,” Catelyn said,
more sharply than she’d intended.
    â€œHis claim, you mean?” Renly laughed. “Let us be blunt, my lady. Stannis
would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. Men respect
Stannis, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him.”
    â€œHe is still your elder brother. If either of you can be said to have a right
to the Iron Throne, it must be Lord Stannis.”
    Renly shrugged. “Tell me, what right did my brother Robert ever have to the
Iron Throne?” He did not wait for an answer. “Oh, there was talk of the blood
ties between Baratheon and Targaryen, of weddings a hundred years past, of
second sons and elder daughters. No one but the maesters care about any of it.
Robert won the throne with his warhammer.” He swept a hand across the
campfires that burned from horizon to horizon. “Well, there

is my claim, as good as Robert’s ever was. If your son supports me as his
father supported Robert, he’ll not find me ungenerous. I will gladly confirm
him in all his lands, titles, and honors. He can rule in Winterfell as he
pleases. He can even go on calling himself King in the North if he likes, so
long as he bends the knee and does me homage as his overlord.
King
is
only a word, but fealty, loyalty, service . . . those I must
have.”
    â€œAnd if he will not give them to you, my lord?”
    â€œI mean to be king, my lady, and not of a broken kingdom. I cannot say it
plainer than that. Three hundred years ago, a Stark king knelt to Aegon the
Dragon, when he saw he could not hope to prevail. That was wisdom. Your son
must be wise as well. Once he joins me, this war is good as done. We—”
Renly broke off suddenly, distracted. “What’s this now?”
    The rattle of chains heralded the raising of the portcullis. Down in the yard
below, a rider in a winged helm urged his well-lathered horse under the spikes.
“Summon the king!” he called.
    Renly vaulted up into a crenel. “I’m here, ser.”
    â€œYour Grace.” The rider spurred his mount closer. “I came swift as I could.
From Storm’s End. We are besieged, Your Grace, Ser Cortnay defies them,
but . . .”
    â€œBut . . . that’s not possible. I would have been told if Lord
Tywin left Harrenhal.”
    â€œThese are no Lannisters, my liege. It’s Lord Stannis at your gates.
King
Stannis, he calls himself now.”

JON
    A blowing rain lashed at Jon’s face as he spurred his horse across the
swollen stream. Beside him, Lord Commander Mormont gave the hood of his cloak a
tug, muttering curses on the weather. His raven sat on his shoulder, feathers
ruffled, as soaked and grumpy as the Old Bear himself. A gust of wind sent wet
leaves flapping round them like a flock of dead birds.
The haunted
forest,
Jon thought ruefully.
The drowned forest, more like
it.
    He hoped Sam was holding up, back down the column. He was not a good
rider even in fair weather, and six days of rain had made the ground
treacherous, all soft mud and hidden rocks. When the wind blew, it drove the
water right into their eyes. The Wall would be flowing off to the south, the
melting ice mingling with warm rain to wash down in sheets and rivers. Pyp and
Toad would be sitting near the fire in the common room, drinking cups of mulled
wine before their supper. Jon envied them. His wet wool clung to him sodden and
itching, his neck and shoulders ached fiercely from the weight of mail and
sword,