The King of Winters

Chapter 48

Jaehaerys

One moment he was asleep; the next, awake.

It was the black of night. The bedchamber was dark and still.

What is it? Did I hear something? Someone?

Wind sighed faintly against the shutters. Somewhere, far off, he heard the hoot of an owl in the dark. Nothing else. Sleep, he told himself. The castle is quiet, and you have guards posted. At your door, at the gates, on the armory.

He might have put it down to a bad dream, but he did not remember dreaming. The day had worn him out. He ought to be back at King's Landing for his brother's marriage, leaving this cold place for good. But this new found trouble of outlaws in the wolfswood has kept him here. He would not go back to his father as a failure. It is time he proved himself to his father, to prove that he is capable of ruling a kingdom. Jaehaerys had sent Ser Derek hunting after them but there has been no more words from him. Nothing from Waterspring too, other than some stupid talk of the common folk. To speak of ghosts and grumkins, Jaehaerys had already heard them in the stories of his wetnurses. He had never been afraid of them then, why should he fear them now?

He slid out from his bed and got to his feet. A few embers still smoldered in the hearth. Nothing moved. Jaehaerys crossed to the window and threw open the shutters. Night touched him with cold fingers, and gooseprickles rose on his bare skin. He leaned against the stone sill and looked out on dark towers, empty yards, black sky, and more stars than a man could ever count if he lived to be a hundred. A half-moon floated above the Bell Tower and cast its reflection on the roof of the glass gardens. He heard no alarums, no voices, not so much as a footfall.

All's well, Jae. Hear the quiet? You ought to be drunk with joy. You are the Lord of Winterfell. The boy who took the castle from the King in the North, a feat to sing of. He started back to bed. But something about the quiet unnerved him.

He stopped. He had grown so used to the different sounds in Winterfell that he scarcely heard it anymore... but some part of him, some hunter's instinct, heard its absence.

Kent stood outside his door, a tall and lean man with a round shield slung over his back. "The castle is so quiet," Jaehaerys told him. "Go to the Walls and see if anything is wrong, and come straight back." The thought of the outlaws inside his walls gave him a queasy feeling. It was a tricksy thought of ruling Winterfell and at the same time of being in enemy territory. The northerners could easily overpower him and his men here and Jaehaerys had no doubt that they would if it was not for Viserion.

Quade was sleeping on the floor, huddled up in his cloak. When Jaehaerys prodded him with the toe of his boot, Quade sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Make certain Walys Flowers and Ser Rodrik are in their beds, and be quick about it."

Of all the people in Winterfell, Jaehaerys distrusted the maester and the knight more than anyone. He had stripped the old knight's post as the master-at-arms of Winterfell and replaced him with Quade, a loyal man of his. If only Jaehaerys had the possibility of changing the maester, he would've done it at once.

Jaehaerys poured himself a cup of wine and drank it down as he waited. All the time he was listening, hoping to hear a sound. Too few men, he thought sourly. I have too few men if the north chooses to rise up for a ghost. His only thought was on Viserion. He might need him now.

Quade returned the quickest, shaking his head side to side. Cursing, Jaehaerys found his tunic and breeches on the floor where he had dropped them in his haste to get to his sleep. Over the tunic he donned a jerkin of iron-studded leather, and he belted a longsword and dagger at his waist. His hair was wild as the wood, but he had larger concerns.