He had been ordered to keep watch here.
For now, he was an obscure Free Rider who had accompanied the king to the North.
He served no one out of loyalty, only for coin and food.
The role had its advantages and drawbacks.
On one hand, he did not have to stay at some noble's side, which let him move more freely and discreetly.
But he had also lost Winterfell's trust. Many important places were closed to him, including the one where his target was.
Every day, he had to find some way to get close to his target: Maester Luwin of Winterfell.
Word was that someone meant to secretly frame the noble Lannisters. His task was to watch the target and stop that vicious schemer from passing even a scrap of slander to Maester Luwin, much less letting the Starks hear such rumors.
That was no easy task.
The maester's tower stood near the walls. The busy Hunter's Gate was not far away, and the bell tower, kitchens, kennels, and stables were all nearby.
By day, plenty of people moved about Winterfell, so he drew no attention. But what good was that? The schemer would never act in daylight. His battlefield was bound to be the night.
What reason did he have to linger here after dark? None.
He had to keep out of sight.
Fortunately, rigorous training had taught him to move quietly without disturbing people or animals.
The only creatures he was not confident he could evade were the Direwolves.
Whenever he approached those uncanny beasts, their stares drove him back. He had no doubt that if he took a few more steps, the wolf pups would leap straight at him.
Thankfully, their young masters kept them close, even when they slept in the distant Great Keep.
Gods be praised.
This evening's approach had been easy.
He had spotted only three guards before climbing onto a concealed stone ledge outside a second-story window.
He knew why. The Crown Prince and two of the Little Wolves had ventured deep into the Crypts, and Catelyn Tully had sent a great many men to search for them. They had probably only just emerged.
Naturally, there were far fewer guards along this route.
Thank you, Your Highness.
Just as he thought that, a cold wind swept past, and he nearly coughed aloud.
Winterfell was bitterly cold at night. Born on a summer shore of the Sunset Sea, he had never known a chill like this.
He stretched out his limbs and pressed himself against the wall beneath him.
Hot springs beneath Winterfell ran through its walls. Wisps of warmth seeped from the stone, offering him his only comfort.
Amazing.
He thought of the Glass Gardens, where they could even grow fruit and vegetables and coax beautiful flowers into bloom.
He had heard it was as warm inside as a southern spring.
His target stood up inside. He hurriedly held his breath and tucked his whole body into a dark corner.
The target fetched a book and sat back down.
The target fell asleep over his desk.
That did not surprise him. The old maester often read and wrote by candlelight until late at night. A little doze was only natural.
Still, he felt a little disheartened.
Nothing had happened throughout his days of surveillance. He was beginning to wonder whether the post Lord Tyrion had assigned him mattered at all.
After all, more than a dozen of his companions had targets of their own.
Maester Luwin was likely among the handful of people the Starks trusted most, and the Great Keep was heavily guarded. Anyone trying to deliver a message had a good chance of coming to the maester instead. Yet he had found nothing.
He sighed.
Elsewhere, Joffrey was frustrated too.
He did not know whether his expectations were too high or the Lannisters' intelligence network was truly inadequate.
In any case, over a month ago Tyrion had given him more than a dozen names. Tywin had assigned these people to Tyrion to guard against anyone trying to drive a wedge between the Lion and the Grey Wolf.
That meant Joffrey still had to deal with the uproar over Lysa Tully's secret letter at Winterfell.
He had finally won over the Little Wolves, and House Stark was about to become a firm ally. How could he let one letter ruin everything?
Damn Littlefinger. The root of every evil.
Though he knew the Lannisters were prepared, he could not put his mind at ease.
Every night, he used the Mind Rune and Scout Rune to keep watch over Maester Luwin, Eddard, and his wife, afraid he might miss the secret letter and see all his efforts go to waste.
Fortunately, he no longer needed long hours of sleep to recover his strength. Otherwise, the strain would have killed him by now.
Even so, the nights were hard to endure.
His only diversion was watching his targets.
Duke Eddard and his wife had energy to spare.
That Lannister spy, whose real name Joffrey did not know, could lie in one spot all night. He was a talent.
Maester Luwin was a maester through and through. The frail old man with gray hair and gray eyes had no pastimes of his own. All day, he read and wrote letters, studied books, fed Message Ravens, and carried out whatever tasks the duke gave him.
After watching Maester Luwin's daily routine for so long, Joffrey could not help feeling sorry for the younger sons of Westeros's nobles.
To keep disputes over inheritance to a minimum, younger sons with no claim to inherit usually became maesters, monks, or men of the Night's Watch.
Every one of those paths required them to forgo marriage and children, along with lands and titles.
Even the Kingsguard, which Bran had dreamed of joining since childhood and which held the highest honor among knights, forbade marriage and children.
Clearly, noble lords placed enormous value on passing down their family lands intact.
Joffrey decided he would fight for the rights of younger sons. The more divided and weaker the nobles became, the easier the king could rest.
A figure suddenly entered Joffrey's field of perception.
Joffrey perked up at once.
Finally?
The figure in his "sight" paused every few steps and kept checking his surroundings. He was clearly no ordinary passerby.
The figure carried an exquisitely carved wooden box. It held a lens, and a letter was hidden in a false compartment.
Joffrey watched him make his way toward Maester's Tower.
Had the spy missed him?
Joffrey shifted his view back to the spy. The man had fallen asleep at a time like this!
What rotten luck!
The Message Ravens in the rookery suddenly took flight in a flock, wheeling silently above the tower.
Something's wrong! Joffrey sensed something.
The Three-Eyed Crow?
He hurriedly used the Information Rune to weave a dream for the spy.
The spy jolted awake.
I fell asleep? And had two strange dreams?
He trusted his training too much to believe he would make such a mistake, but there was no time to puzzle it out.
A figure had appeared before his target.
The figure quietly set down a wooden box and was about to leave.
The target opened his eyes.
The figure bolted.
The spy waited in silence as the man ran to a spot a few yards below him.
Gripping his dagger, he leaped down.
One slash across the throat.
A perfect strike, but it had not achieved what he needed.
He looked toward Maester Luwin in the tower. The old maester had already picked up the wooden box.
He would have to go over there and finish this.
The crows grew more agitated, their cries turning harsh and shrill.
Joffrey had encountered an invisible enemy.
He "looked" toward Bran's bedroom. Bran slept peacefully, with an inexplicable power lingering around him.
The Three-Eyed Crow!
Joffrey put that bastard on his blacklist.
You meddled with Bran, disrupted my man's work, and tried to turn the lion and the wolf against each other.
You're finished!
Before you continue