Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web

Please bear with me, everyone. I will try my best to make up for the delays before the end of the month. Thank you.

He couldn't conjure that smile, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't bring it to mind. Instead, he involuntarily recalled the day they found the direwolves, and the deserter his father had beheaded. "You swore an oath," Lord Eddard had told the man, "You swore it before your brothers, and before the old gods and the new." Desmond and Fat Tom dragged the deserter to the chopping block. Bran's eyes were wide as saucers, and Jon had to remind him to keep his pony still. He remembered his father's expression as Theon Greyjoy handed him Ice, and then the blood splattering on the snow, and Theon kicking the head to his feet.

He wondered what he would have done if the deserter had been Eddard's own brother Benjen, instead of a ragged stranger. Would it have made a difference? It would have, it would have, it would… There was no question that Robb would have welcomed him. How could he not? Unless…

Best not to dwell on it. He tightened his grip on the reins, his fingers throbbing. Jon spurred his horse again, galloping down the kingsroad as if to outrun his doubts. Jon did not fear death, but he did not want to die trussed up like a common brigand, beheaded for all to see. If die he must, he would rather die with a sword in his hand, in single combat against the men who had murdered his father. He had not been born a true Stark, never was… but he could die like one. Let them know that Eddard Stark had had four sons, not three.

Ghost ran beside him for a mile, his red tongue lolling from his mouth. He urged his mare faster, and they sped on with their heads down. The direwolf slowed, stopped, looked back, his eyes gleaming red in the moonlight. Soon he was lost behind them, and Jon knew he would follow at his own pace.

Ahead, flickering lights shone through the trees. Mole's Town. He galloped past, hearing the barking of dogs and the braying of a donkey from the stables, but otherwise the village was silent. A few hearth fires glowed faintly through shuttered windows, or leaked between the boards of the huts, but few.

Mole's Town was much larger than it seemed, for three-quarters of it was underground, a warren of deep warm cellars connected by a maze of tunnels. Even the brothels were down there; from above, they looked like nothing more than small wooden sheds, no bigger than privies, each with a red lantern hung beside the door. The men of the Watch called it the Treasures Under the Earth, and he wondered how many black brothers were digging for treasure tonight. That was a form of desertion too, of course, but no one seemed to care.

Jon did not slow until he had put the village far behind him. By then both he and the mare were lathered in sweat. He dismounted, shivering, his burned hand throbbing. I did the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

The mare was still breathing hard, so Jon walked her for a while. The road was narrow, scarcely wide enough for two to ride abreast, and rutted with small gullies and loose stones. It had been foolish to run her like that, asking for trouble, he could have broken her leg or his neck. What was wrong with him? Was he so eager to die?

A startled animal shrieked in the woods off to the side. He looked up at once, and the mare whickered nervously. Had his wolf found prey? He cupped his hands to his mouth. "Ghost!" he called. "Ghost! Here!" But the only answer was the sound of an owl taking wing behind him.

Frowning, Jon started on again. He walked the mare for half an hour, until she was dry. But Ghost did not come. Jon wanted to mount up and ride on, but he was worried about the missing wolf. "Ghost," he called again, "where are you? Come here! Ghost!" Nothing in these woods should be a match for a direwolf—even a half-grown direwolf—unless… No, Ghost would not be so stupid as to attack a bear, and if there were wolves nearby, Jon would have heard their howls.

Finally, he decided to eat a little something. Food would settle his stomach, and give Ghost a little more time to catch up. There was no immediate danger; Castle Black still slept. He took a biscuit from his saddlebag, a small piece of cheese, and a shriveled brown apple. He had some salt beef as well, and a slice of bacon he had stolen from the kitchens, but he wanted to save that for the morrow. Once his food was gone, he would have to hunt, and that would slow him down.

Jon sat down beneath a tree, eating the biscuit and cheese, letting the mare graze along the kingsroad. He saved the apple for last; it was soft to the touch, but still tart and juicy. He was gnawing on the core when he heard it: the sound of hooves, coming from the north. Jon leaped to his feet, and ran for the mare. Could he outrun them? No, too close, he would give himself away, and if they were from Castle Black…

He led the mare off the road, behind a thick clump of grey-green sentinels. "Quiet now," he whispered, crouching low, peering out through the branches. If the gods were good, they would ride by unheeding. Probably farmers from Mole's Town, returning to their fields, but what would they be doing out here in the middle of the night?…

He listened, as the hoofbeats grew louder, coming fast down the kingsroad, a steady drumbeat. Five or six men, he guessed. Their voices carried through the trees.

"…sure he went this way?"

"Of course not."

"Maybe he went east. Or left the road and went through the woods. That's what I'd do."

"On a night as black as this? You'd be a fool. Even if you didn't fall and break your neck, you'd get lost and wander around till the sun came up and you wound up back at the Wall."

"I wouldn't," Grenn said, sounding indignant. "I'd ride south. I know which way is south by the stars."

"What if it clouds over?" Pyp asked.

"Then I wouldn't ride."

Another voice cut in. "You know what I'd do? I'd go straight to Mole's Town and dig for treasure." Todder's shrill laugh echoed through the trees, and Jon's mare snorted.

"All of you shut your mouths," Hodor said. "I think I heard something."

"Where? I didn't hear nothing." The hoofbeats stopped.

"You can't hear yourself fart."

"I can too," Grenn insisted.

"Shut up!"

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