Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung over the castle likea flag of mourning.

Tyrion Lannister looked up from his books and shivered, though the library was snug and warm.

Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in adark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.

When the direwolf howled again, Tyrion shut the heavy leather-bound cover on the book he wasreading, a hundred-year-old discourse on the changing of the seasons by a long-dead maester. Hecovered a yawn with the back of his hand. His reading lamp was flickering, its oil all but gone, asdawn light leaked through the high windows. He had been at it all night, but that was nothing new.

Tyrion Lannister was not much a one for sleeping.

His legs were stiff and sore as he eased down off the bench. He massaged some life back into themand limped heavily to the table where the septon was snoring softly, his head pillowed on an openbook in front of him. Tyrion glanced at the title. A life of the Grand Maester Aethelmure, no wonder.

“Chayle,” he said softly. The young man jerked up, blinking, confused, the crystal of his orderswinging wildly on its silver chain. “I’m off to break my fast. See that you return the books to theshelves. Be gentle with the Valyrian scrolls, the parchment is very dry. Ayrmidon’s Engines of War isquite rare, and yours is the only complete copy I’ve ever seen.” Chayle gaped at him, still half-asleep.

Patiently, Tyrion repeated his instructions, then clapped the septon on the shoulder and left him to histasks.

Outside, Tyrion swallowed a lungful of the cold morning air and began his laborious descent of thesteep stone steps that corkscrewed around the exterior of the library tower. It was slow going; thesteps were cut high and narrow, while his legs were short and twisted. The rising sun had not yetcleared the walls of Winterfell, but the men were already hard at it in the yard below. SandorClegane’s rasping voice drifted up to him. “The boy is a long time dying. I wish he would be quickerabout it.”

Tyrion glanced down and saw the Hound standing with young Joffrey as squires swarmed aroundthem. “At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarcesleep last night.”

Clegane cast a long shadow across the hard-packed earth as his squire lowered the black helm overhis head. “I could silence the creature, if it please you,” he said through his open visor. His boy placeda longsword in his hand. He tested the weight of it, slicing at the cold morning air. Behind him, theyard rang to the clangor of steel on steel.

The notion seemed to delight the prince. “Send a dog to kill a dog!” he exclaimed. “Winterfell is soinfested with wolves, the Starks would never miss one.”

Tyrion hopped off the last step onto the yard. “I beg to differ, nephew,” he said. “The Starks cancount past six. Unlike some princes I might name.”

Joffrey had the grace at least to blush.

“A voice from nowhere,” Sandor said. He peered through his helm, looking this way and that.

“Spirits of the air!”

The prince laughed, as he always laughed when his bodyguard did this mummer’s farce. Tyrionwas used to it. “Down here.”

The tall man peered down at the ground, and pretended to notice him. “The little lord Tyrion,” hesaid. “My pardons. I did not see you standing there.”

“I am in no mood for your insolence today.” Tyrion turned to his nephew. “Joffrey, it is past timeyou called on Lord Eddard and his lady, to offer them your comfort.”

Joffrey looked as petulant as only a boy prince can look. “What good will my comfort do them?”

“None,” Tyrion said. “Yet it is expected of you. Your absence has been noted.”

“The Stark boy is nothing to me,” Joffrey said. “I cannot abide the wailing of women.”

Tyrion Lannister reached up and slapped his nephew hard across the face. The boy’s cheek beganto redden.

“One word,” Tyrion said, “and I will hit you again.”

“I’m going to tell Mother!” Joffrey exclaimed.

Tyrion hit him again. Now both cheeks flamed.

“You tell your mother,” Tyrion told him. “But first you get yourself to Lord and Lady Stark, andyou fall to your knees in front of them, and you tell them how very sorry you are, and that you are attheir service if there is the slightest thing you can do for them or theirs in this desperate hour, and thatall your prayers go with them. Do you understand? Do you?”

The boy looked as though he was going to cry. Instead, he managed a weak nod. Then he turnedand fled headlong from the yard, holding his cheek. Tyrion watched him run.

A shadow fell across his face. He turned to find Clegane looming overhead like a cliff. His soot-dark armor seemed to blot out the sun. He had lowered the visor on his helm. It was fashioned in thelikeness of a snarling black hound, fearsome to behold, but Tyrion had always thought it a greatimprovement over Clegane’s hideously burned face.

“The prince will remember that, little lord,” the Hound warned him. The helm turned his laughinto a hollow rumble.

“I pray he does,” Tyrion Lannister replied. “If he forgets, be a good dog and remind him.” Heglanced around the courtyard. “Do you know where I might find my brother?”

“Breaking fast with the queen.”

“Ah,” Tyrion said. He gave Sandor Clegane a perfunctory nod and walked away as briskly as hisstunted legs would carry him, whistling. He pitied the first knight to try the Hound today. The mandid have a temper.

A cold, cheerless meal had been laid out in the morning room of the Guest House. Jaime sat at tablewith Cersei and the children, talking in low, hushed voices.

“Is Robert still abed?” Tyrion asked as he seated himself, uninvited, at the table.

His sister peered at him with the same expression of faint distaste she had worn since the day hewas born. “The king has not slept at all,” she told him. “He is with Lord Eddard. He has taken theirsorrow deeply to heart.”

“He has a larg............