Warg

The King of Winter's throne was not the end.

They pressed on through a long passage, ruins, an underground river, and caves before they finally saw daylight.

Clear white light poured from a cloudless sky. Everywhere stood ancient trees, weathered yet hardy, with patches of old snow that never melted scattered among them.

The rough-faced veteran murmured, "This is the Wolfswood."

The oldest and largest forest in the North.

No wonder they had been able to breathe so easily so deep in the tombs.

They walked for more than an hour. By the time they reached Winterfell's gates aboveground, the sun had set.

Lord Eddard came at once.

"Where did you go? Do you know how worried everyone was?"

He turned to someone beside him. "Vayon, find the soldiers in the tombs. Tell them we've found the children and to come up at once."

Vayon Poole, Winterfell's steward, promptly left to carry out the order.

Arya shook her father's arm, her face alight with excitement. "The tombs go so deep and so far! And there's a huge throne!"

Bran could not help adding, "That had to be the King of Winter's throne."

Lord Eddard remained stern. "Never mind the throne. Your mother's nearly frantic with worry. Get inside."

"Besides..." Eddard glanced at Joffrey.

"The King of Winter has long since passed into legend. Winter is now the North, and there is no king here anymore."

Joffrey smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the trouble, Lord Eddard. Don't blame Bran and Arya. This was my idea."

"Thinking back, I really shouldn't have disturbed House Stark's ancestors at rest."

Bran was still too innocent for that. Blushing, he quietly confessed to his father, "I was the one who insisted on going. Please don't misunderstand the prince."

"Honesty is a fine quality." Eddard patted Bran's shoulder. "I don't blame any of you. What matters is that you're back."

Bran and Arya both breathed a sigh of relief.

On the way back to the Great Keep, the two children, flushed with the success of their adventure, kept boasting to their father about the wonders they had seen in the tombs.

Joffrey could feel Eddard's gaze on him.

It seemed the lord of House Stark knew who was really to blame.

He had pried into House Stark's secrets, disturbed the dead, and led two Little Wolves deep into danger.

Joffrey supplied the sound effect in his head: Ding! System notification: Eddard Stark's favorability −1. Winterfell reputation −1.

Fortunately, his status as Crown Prince made a useful shield.

The king's laughter reached them the moment they stepped into the hall.

Dinner did indeed have a main course.

The wild yak the king had personally killed was skewered on a long, thick iron spit, turning slowly over the coals. Glistening fat dripped onto the fire below, sending up little tongues of flame.

Never had a yak been so well loved.

Whenever another layer finished roasting, a servant carved off just the right amount of meat. Then someone brushed the yak on the spit with spicy, savory, or sweet seasoning to suit the different tastes of the nobles.

Joffrey asked for the spicy kind.

The meat was quite firm, with an indescribable taste of the wild. Not bad.

Bran came over.

After half a day of adventure, Bran already considered himself a good friend of the Crown Prince.

"Your Highness, I know lots of places in the castle nobody else knows about. We could explore them together later. What do you say?"

Joffrey had no desire to visit the Broken Tower in particular.

"I'd love to, but King's Landing keeps urging my father to return. We can't stay long, so I should spend what time I have with the people of the North."

Joffrey changed the subject.

"Bran, your father would make a fine Hand of the King."

"Once we're in the south, I'm sure you'll love the Red Keep. The Dragonpit and the vaults beneath the Red Keep hold many secrets."

"I only hope Lord Eddard won't refuse."

Bran looked hopeful. "Why would Father say no?"

The legendary name Dragonpit immediately seized Bran's imagination. How big must a place where dragons lived be? Did Dragonriders live there too?

Bran pictured himself in white armor and a white cloak, riding a dragon and guarding the king.

Bran knew every story about the Kingsguard:

Serwyn of the Mirror Shield from centuries ago, Ser Ryam Redwyne, Prince Aemon the Dragonrider, and Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, the twin brothers who had lived and died together during the Dance of the Dragons.

Gerold Hightower the White Bull, Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning, and Barristan the Bold.

"When you become king, Your Highness, you must let me join the Kingsguard. You must!"

Bran dreamed of the path that would make him a great knight.

Bran, you're meant to become the Greenseer, the Three-Eyed Crow, Brandon Stark.

Joffrey smiled. "I will."

Skinchangers were also called Wargs. Gifted in a rare way, they could enter and control an animal's body with their minds, and could even survive in one after death.

Legend held that only one person in a thousand carried the latent gift of a Skinchanger, and only one Skinchanger in a thousand could become a Greenseer.

Why did so many members of House Stark possess the Skinchanger's gift?

How did Skinchanging work? Why could he see no magical light on Bran or the others?

Why had the current Greenseer sought Bran out?

The moment Joffrey sat on the King of Winter's throne, he found the answers to all those questions.

New Runes had revealed many truths buried in history.

His gaze crossed the river of time to a distant past, when the North was still called Winter.

Back then, the throne had not stood in the dark underground. It had been bathed in snow and blood.

Countless figures came and went beneath it, offering struggling or despairing sacrifices to the mighty throne.

Long-faced men and women clad in heavy animal hides presided over the sacrifices.

Some carried bronze sickles, swords, and axes. They slit their victims' throats or hacked off their heads, letting steaming scarlet blood seep into the snow and flow toward the throne;

Some raised heavy stones and smashed their victims' flesh into pulp;

Others simply placed their victims' heads beside the throne and sprinkled blood over it.

Souls were traded for magic.

He saw the magical light on the throne grow brighter, shedding motes of starlight that merged with the figures below.

Not everyone received that honor. He noticed that most of those the starlight sought had gray eyes, dark brown hair, and long faces.

Starks.

They were already the leaders of their people.

The starlight sank into their bodies.

He saw them wield supernatural powers, yet still could not see any magical light on them.

He stepped down from the throne.

When he looked back, the visions scattered on the wind. Only an empty throne of black stone remained.

He now knew the secret of the Wargs.

The throne held three kinds of Runes: a Mind Rune and two others he did not know. But now he could name them.

One was the Recollection Rune, which let him see the past through a medium.

The other was the Bloodline Rune, which could weave the power of other Runes into human bloodlines. The power was faint and invisible, but it endured from generation to generation.

Wasn't the Warg gift simply a weaker version of the Mind Rune?

A Greenseer could observe the past through Weirwood. The Recollection Rune did almost exactly the same thing, perhaps even better.

No wonder the Greenseer had his eye on Bran.

Bran had been chosen by Brynden Rivers, the Three-Eyed Crow, as the next Greenseer. Could his fate truly not be changed?

Perhaps there could be a Kingsguard knight called Brandon Stark the Warg.

Joffrey wanted to try.