Bran's body jolted upright in bed, his dull eyes gradually clearing as consciousness returned to him.
He remembered.
Startled by the threat in the water, Summer had rejected his presence, hurling his awareness back into his own flesh. Bran wiped away nonexistent cold sweat, struggling to control his body, which had not yet fully reacquainted itself with his spirit. He climbed clumsily from the bed, his thoughts still fixed upon the sinister shadow lurking beneath the river's surface.
What a monstrous lizard-lion. It could swallow a man whole without strain.
Why would such a creature venture beyond the Neck?
Bran could not fathom it. He longed to consult Prince Joffrey, who possessed deep knowledge of magical matters, but the steel piece had lain silent these past fifteen days. Arya had mourned its stillness for half a day or more.
He must alert the others to the peril in the river.
Bran resolved himself to action.
"Make way! Men of House Tully, bearing urgent tidings for the King!" "Stand aside!"
The thunder of hooves and desperate shouts drifted from the west.
Bran hastened to the window. A score of riders clad in mail and boiled leather galloped along the River Road toward the inn. They reined up sharply before the entrance, dismounting with practiced swiftness and rushing inside without pause to recover their breath.
The riders vanished from Bran's view, leaving only flustered servants to tend their lathered mounts.
Bran could not wholly subdue the curiosity that gnawed at him. Since acquiring his strange gift, he had grown ever less tolerant of the agony of not seeing.
With practiced ease, he slipped his skin, entering the body of a small sparrow perched upon the rafters of the common room.
The breathless messengers had drawn the attention of all within the hall. The leader produced a wooden coffer containing two letters, each sealed with wax impressions—one bearing the direwolf of House Stark, the other the leaping trout of House Tully.
The messenger scanned the hall, finding no crowned head among those present.
"My lords," he announced, still fighting for breath, "Lord Hoster has dispatched us with these missives. His Grace the Crown Prince and Lady Stark send urgent word from Winterfell." His eyes continued their search. "Where might I find His Grace the King?"
Ser Barristan stepped forward, his white cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. "His Grace is abroad. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The letters may be entrusted to me."
"You are a knight without peer," the messenger acknowledged, extending the wooden coffer. Yet his face betrayed no relief.
"Though I know not the contents of these letters, Lord Hoster instructed us to deliver them to the King with all haste. Hundreds of our men follow close behind to lend their swords if needed. I beg you, my lord, treat this matter with the gravity it demands."
Barristan's weathered face grew somber at once.
The Kingslayer rose from his seat, impatience written in every line of his body. "Captain, why do you hesitate? The King and Lord Eddard will scarce return before nightfall. Either venture into the forest to find them or break the seals and learn what news they bear, lest we delay in some matter of import."
The sparrow upon the rafter yearned to know what words the parchments carried.
Ser Barristan did not disappoint the little bird's expectations. He broke the seals and unfolded the letters. Though he did not read them aloud, the sparrow needed only to flutter to a more advantageous perch.
Flap, flap~
The bird's movement drew no eyes amid the tension of the moment.
Before the letters were closed by a hand grown suddenly tense, Bran's borrowed eyes caught fragments of text: Bloodraven, King's Landing, controlling beasts, attack, King, Lord Stark, support.
Unbidden, the memory of the lizard-lion invaded Bran's thoughts. His mind conjured a scene of terrible violence.
No!
Bran jolted from his bed once more, but this time he had willfully withdrawn from the sparrow's form.
He flung open his chamber door and hurtled down the stairs, his urgency such that he knocked aside several servants in his haste. None of that mattered now.
He burst into the hall and found Ser Barristan and the Kingslayer locked in fierce debate.
"There's a lizard-lion in the river!" he cried, his voice cracking with fear. "A massive beast—I saw it with my own eyes! Father and the King are in grave peril. You must go to them!"
All eyes in the hall fixed upon the wild-eyed Stark boy. Bran cared only for convincing the two Kingsguard knights of the danger.
"Believe me, all I have said is truth. A monster lurks in the water, poised to strike!"
His voice broke with desperation. "You must act swiftly, or it will be too late!"
Ser Barristan's decision came without hesitation. "No risk to the King may be dismissed. I would rather believe the boy speaks true and be proved a fool than ignore his warning and find myself a traitor through inaction." He turned to the men-at-arms. "Prepare to ride. At once!"
The Kingslayer's lips curved in an inexplicable smile.
Scores of seasoned warriors assembled with remarkable swiftness. After the briefest explanation of their purpose, they plunged into the forest's depths.
Despite his repeated entreaties, Bran remained at the inn. He attempted once more to enter Summer's body, but the direwolf resisted his presence. Left with no choice, he seized control of a hunting hound and silently followed the armed party into the wood.
Hundreds of leagues distant, Joffrey drew a deep breath.
The letters had reached their destination. The King hunted in the forest, and the lizard-lions waited in position, requiring only the final command to strike.
Joffrey closed his eyes, focusing his consciousness entirely upon the magical beast that lurked thousands of miles away.
When his eyes opened again, his vision revealed a curtain of clear, flowing water. Save for aquatic plants, no fish nor water creature dared show itself before this predator's gaze.
The lizard-lion brought with it strange new sensations. It reminded Joffrey of his earliest experiments in skinchanging—the world felt utterly transformed, as though he experienced it for the first time.
Little wonder Bran had grown so enamored of the practice that he could scarcely tear himself away.
The time for action had come.
Joffrey flexed the lizard-lion's thick, powerful tail. In the space of a heartbeat, the creature propelled itself to the riverbank with astonishing speed.
It dragged its armored bulk ashore, concealing itself within the dense foliage that bordered the beach, awaiting the King's arrival.
King Robert roared with laughter, brandishing a broken spear. At his feet lay a massive aurochs, slain in single combat.
"What did I tell you, Ned? I said there'd be no trouble. Who am I, if not the man who drove his hammer through Rhaegar's chest!"
The King pointed toward the river that flowed beside the wood. "Right there, I still recall it clear as yesterday. The Ruby Ford!" He laughed again. "A fitting name!"
"Indeed, Your Grace."
Eddard was reluctant to speak overmuch of Rhaegar, for such talk inevitably stirred memories of his sister Lyanna's dying plea.
That child, now in league with Joffrey—it troubles my heart.
Eddard mistrusted Jon's choice, yet forcing him to take the black would resolve nothing. He could only nurse his concerns in silence.
Whoosh~ Whoosh~
The tall grass to the west swayed in rhythmic patterns, allowing one to trace the movement of some unseen creature.
The King nudged Eddard with excitement, his voice dropping to what passed for a whisper when Robert spoke. "More game afoot. Keep still and witness how I bring it down."
Eddard had long grown accustomed to such moments and held his peace.
Robert exchanged his broken spear for a fresh one, advancing with exaggerated stealth toward the rustling brush.
Roar~
The quarry started, transforming into a black blur as it fled westward.
"Ha! A great boar!"
The King shouted with undisguised glee before charging in pursuit. Eddard and a dozen guardsmen followed close behind.
Bran cared nothing for the welfare of his borrowed form. The hunting hound raced forward with reckless abandon, rapidly outpacing the armored soldiers and closing the distance to the King and his father.
He caught his father's scent, mingled with the coppery tang of blood.
His mind conjured images of heart-rending tragedy, yet when he reached the source of the blood-scent, he found only the slain aurochs.
He pressed onward, following the fresh trail.
As he ran, a sense of familiarity settled over him. He had traveled this path before.
The rising smell of water vapor jogged his memory—he and Summer had ventured this way earlier. This was the western path that led to the Ruby Ford, where the lizard-lion lurked!
The hound redoubled its pace, muscles straining beyond their limits.
The trees thinned, and dappled sunlight broke through the canopy. At last, the river and beach came into view. He spotted the massive boar, and at the edge of the woods, a dozen human figures.
But there, surging from the water with preternatural speed, the enormous lizard-lion charged toward the King and his father, twin rows of dagger-like teeth gleaming in the sun.
Despair clutched at Bran's heart. We are too late.
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