...Winterfell.
Catelyn Tully sat by the bedside, her blue eyes brimming with tears.
Grief and self-reproach filled her slightly wrinkled face; she hated herself immensely for not looking after her mischievous son better.
She reached out and gently stroked Bran's forehead; he shared a very similar appearance to her.
The once lively Little girl lay quietly on the bed as if dead, and Catelyn's tears fell involuntarily once more.
"Oh, Cat."
The door opened, and a burly man with black hair and gray eyes appeared at the doorway.
Catelyn's husband, the lord of winterfell Eddard Stark, walked slowly into the room, first tenderly embracing Catelyn and kissing her on the forehead.
Then he turned to look at his son still lying on the bed, his eyes also filled with deep concern.
"You should get some rest, Cat."
Returning to his wife's side and gently holding the woman who had borne him five children, a rare look of affection appeared on the usually solemn face of Eddard.
"I have a bad feeling, Ned."
Not listening to her husband's words, Catelyn simply wiped away her tears gently.
Too much had happened recently.
Her sister's husband, Eddard's foster father Jon Arryn, had died under mysterious circumstances, and Lysa's letter had cryptically suggested the Queen was behind it.
Their family had been living well in Winterfell, far from King's Landing, but the King insisted on traveling thousands of miles to ask Eddard to serve.
Just as the King arrived at King's Landing, her own son met with such an accident.
And as luck would have it, the first person to find Bran was a Kingsguard of House Lannister, the Queen's brother, that notorious "kingslayer."
This made Catelyn recall the contents of her sister Lysa's letter.
A series of events left this resilient and brave woman feeling a sense of suffocating anxiety for a moment.
"Go tell Robert that we will stay in Winterfell and not go to King's Landing, alright?"
Before the husband she had spent many years with, the strong Catelyn finally showed her vulnerable side.
With a sob in her voice, like a panicked Little girl, she begged her husband not to leave her.
"You know why I must, Cat."
Faced with his beloved's helpless plea, Eddard felt as if his heart were being sliced by a thousand blades; how could he not want to stay by his family's side?
But he remembered what Robert had told him earlier that day, and the sight of the banners of the golden lion on a crimson field that blotted out the sky in the King's procession as it entered the castle.
Even he, who was not particularly sensitive to politics, sensed that something was very wrong.
"Robert needs me."
Lowering his head in slight shame, the great lord of winterfell and warden of the north actually dared not look his wife in the eye.
"Robert needs you, but we need you too!"
Faced with her husband's unhesitating refusal, Catelyn became somewhat agitated.
This morning, Cersei had come under the guise of a visit, but Catelyn felt the woman only wanted to confirm whether her son had woken up.
Her right hand trembling as she stroked Eddard's face, the unease in Catelyn's heart grew stronger, as if once he left Winterfell, he would never return.
"We are your family, Ned."
She whispered softly into her husband's ear, hoping he would change his mind.
However, Eddard had already made his decision.
With immense guilt, he stroked Catelyn's back, his gray eyes fixed on her as he spoke with a slight choke in his voice:
"You are my family, but Robert is my brother."
"Robert told me that King's Landing has been surrounded by Lannisters."
"Especially that commander of the city watch of House Lannister he newly appointed; that's a fellow who can take on seven Kingsguard single-handedly."
"Now, I'm afraid only if I go to King's Landing myself and assume the position of hand of the king can I help him."
Gently pushing his wife away, Eddard walked to Bran's side and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
Looking at his son who still appeared to be in a deep sleep, he murmured as if comforting Catelyn, or perhaps himself:
"Don't worry, Maester Luwin said he is not in any serious danger; soon this tough little guy will be like a strong pony again, galloping across the lands of the North."
Having said that, Eddard left without looking back.
Watching her husband's departing back, Catelyn's eyes flickered, unsure of what she was thinking... King's Landing.
"Feel—"
Lying on the bed, Syrio slowly opened his eyes as a surge of intense pain struck him from all over his body, causing him to suck in a breath of cold air.
The force with which Arthas threw him was simply too great, causing him to be unconscious for nearly a day and a night.
Perhaps hearing the movement here, two sets of hurried footsteps approached.
Next, a white-bearded old man roughly grabbed his head, forced his eyelids open, and leaned in close.
"He's fine now. Another day of rest and he should be recovered."
The decrepit Pycelle observed for a moment with due diligence before finally giving this conclusion.
"Hey, how are you feeling?"
After seeing off the trembling Pycelle, who looked as if he could barely walk straight, Lancel leaned his head in front of Syrio, his pale green eyes full of excitement.
Seeing Syrio's dazed expression, the golden-haired youth began to gesticulate wildly on his own, regardless of whether Syrio had come to his senses:
"It's incredible! Do you know that your name has already spread throughout King's Landing!"
"To actually be able to match Lord Arthas on equal footing in swordsmanship and even wound him."
"You've truly opened all of our eyes!"
"On equal footing... was I?"
Hearing Lancel's praise, Syrio's face showed not the slightest bit of joy; instead, his voice revealed a hint of desolation.
If the opponent hadn't suddenly spaced out at the critical moment, he probably wouldn't have even been able to touch the hem of his clothes.
"I wonder how he is doing?"
Syrio shook his head, carefully recalling that before he lost consciousness, his rapier had accurately pierced the vital spot of the opponent's chest; an ordinary person would likely have died long ago.
But remembering that completely irresistible force from before, and seeing Lancel's relaxed demeanor, he felt somewhat certain that Arthas was likely fine.
"That power, that unique aura."
Staring blankly at the ceiling, Syrio finally remembered why he felt that Arthas gave him a sense of déjà vu.
Just before coming to Westeros by ship, at the time when Quilo Valentin was defeated, he had also felt a similar aura.
"Jianna Targaryen..."
"Arsath Lannister..."
Murmuring to himself, Syrio felt that there should be some kind of connection between these two people.
"Lord Arthas!"
While he was lost in thought, Lancel beside him suddenly straightened his chest and gave a standard knightly salute toward the door.
"How are you feeling, first sword of Braavos?"
Arthas, dressed in a long red robe, paced into the room and waved his hand at Lancel, signaling that there was no need for formalities.
Enduring the pain in his body, Syrio sat up and looked at the golden-haired youth who had defeated him without effort.
His complexion was ruddy and his steps were steady, as if he hadn't been injured at all.
"I feel..."
"That the swordsmanship I've taken pride in all these years is nothing more than a joke before you."
With a bitter smile, Syrio questioned his own strength for the first time in his life.
"No, no, Syrio."
Arthas shook his head gently and warmly patted Syrio's shoulder.
The gentle smile on his face always seemed to dissolve the unease and doubt in others' hearts.
"You are a Genius."
In his firm and powerful words, he was not stingy with his appreciation and recognition of Syrio's swordsmanship:
"Your swordsmanship, even in all of Westeros, is at the pinnacle of existence."
"Unfortunately, you met me."
With his hands crossed behind his back, a hint of pride appeared on Arthas's gentle face.
Such conflicting temperaments seemed perfectly natural on him, as if he were born to be this way:
"The world is never short of all kinds of geniuses, Syrio."
"But being a genius is merely the threshold to challenge me."
The incomparably overbearing declaration, set against his golden hair, appeared so dazzling in Syrio's eyes.
"Rest well, first sword of Braavos."
Seeing that he was not in any serious danger, Arthas turned to leave:
"My City Watch still lacks a swordmaster!"
"A swordmaster?"
Hearing Arthas's unquestionable arrangement, Syrio quickly got up and called out to him:
"Forgive my bluntness, Lord Arthas."
"The swordsmanship of a Water Dancer is not suited for use in an army."
"And I still want to travel around and challenge more of Westeros's swordmasters!"
Hearing his somewhat refusal, Arthas, who had already reached the door, turned his head:
"Rest easy, Syrio."
"I don't need you to teach them swordsmanship; that bunch of stupid fellows probably couldn't learn it anyway."
A flash of mockery crossed his golden eyes, then he spoke again to explain:
"I just need someone strong enough to oversee their training properly."
"You have already proven your strength and are a very suitable candidate."
"Besides, the King's Tourney has already been scheduled."
"The most famous knights of the Seven Kingdoms will all come to King's Landing."
"When the time comes, I'm sure you won't be disappointed."
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