Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon. Kill him, hissed some drunken slattern from the back, and other voices took up the call, faster than he would have believed. And yet the moment the king was dead, he called the small council together to steal Prince Joffrey's rightful throne. Even if we had the time.
Almost shyly, the boy led them to his bench, and a steel helm shaped like a bull's head, with two great curving horns. The knight smiled. Where is the city? she asked as they passed beneath the bronze arch. He's a Stark, and near four.
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