Game of Thrones Page #4

NED:

True enough, but do you understand

why I had to kill him?

Bran thinks about this for a few seconds, confused.

BRAN:

King Robert has a headsman.

NED:

He does. As did the Targaryen kings

before him.

Ned reaches out to grab the pommel on Bran’s saddle. He

forces the horse and pony to walk very close.

NED:

Our way is the old way. The man who

passes the sentence should swing

the sword.

Bran stares at the massive sword sheathed at Ned’s hip.

BRAN:

Is it true he saw the Others?

Ned stares at his son for a long beat.

8.

NED:

You heard that?

(off Bran’s nod)

The Others have been gone for eight

thousand years.

BRAN:

So he was lying?

NED:

He believed it. A madman sees what

he sees.

They’re interrupted by the sound of hooves; Jon reappears on

the crest of the hill before them, waving urgently.

JON:

Over here!

EXT. RIVERBANK - DAY

Ned’s party reaches the riverbank. Jon has dismounted beside

Robb, who cradles something in his arm.

Bran and Ned stay back with the rest of their party as Jory

and Theon approach the older boys.

When he sees what lies on the ground beside Robb, Theon

curses and pulls his horse away. Jory does the same and yells

to the boys:

JORY:

Get away from it!

ROBB:

She can’t hurt you. She’s dead.

Burning with curiosity, Bran spurs his pony to keep up with

Ned as they approach the others, who are all dismounting.

THEON:

What in hell is it?

Bran finally gets close enough to see.

ROBB:

A wolf.

The dead wolf is impossibly huge, bigger than Bran’s pony.

Its blind eyes crawl with maggots.

THEON:

It’s a freak.

9.

JON:

No. That’s a direwolf.

Ned kneels beside the wolf. Groping under the beast’s head,

he gives a yank and comes up with a foot of shattered antler,

slick with half-dried blood.

THEON:

There hasn’t been a direwolf south

of the Wall for two hundred years.

Jon looks at the bundle beneath Robb’s arm and grins:

JON:

Well... now there are five.

When Bran sees what everyone is staring at his eyes widen. He

moves in to get a closer look at the direwolf pup-- a tiny

ball of gray-black fur, eyes still closed, nuzzling blindly

against Robb’s chest, whimpering.

JORY:

Tough old beast, wasn’t she?

Birthing a litter with an antler in

her throat.

ROBB:

(to Bran)

Go on. You can touch him.

Bran gives the pup a quick, nervous stroke. As he turns:

JON:

Here you go.

Jon thrusts another pup into Bran’s arms. Overjoyed, Bran

plops down in the snow and rubs the wolf pup’s soft fur

against his cheek.

Ned picks up two more helpless pups, one in each hand. Jon

picks up the fifth.

HULLEN (40s), the horse master, frowns at this ill omen.

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