“Lord Manderly, pray tell me how old I am, if you would be so good.” “You are ten-and-six today, Your Grace,” Lord Manderly replied. “A man grown. It is time for you to take the governance of the Seven Kingdoms into your own hands.” “I shall,” King Aegon said. “You are sitting in my chair.”

The coldness in his tone took every man in the room aback, Grand Maester Munkun would write years later. Confused and shaken, Torrhen Manderly prised his considerable bulk out of the chair at the head of the council table, with an uneasy glance at Sandoq the Shadow. As he held the chair for the king, he said, “Your Grace, we were speaking of the progress—”

“I will not spend a year upon a horse, sleeping in strange beds and trading empty courtesies with drunken lords, half of whom would gladly see me dead if it gained them a groat. If any man requires words with me, he will find me on the Iron Throne.”

The Karstarks may boast to be the suns of winter, but Altheda felt a distinct chill in Karhold, even under her layered traveling cloaks. Even as she tried to ignore it, she knew it had more to do with the chilling rumors and isolating sense that she did not belong here than the drifting snow. A northern tour was not complete without a visit to all noble houses and Altheda was determined to push onwards, forwards, and to the east. It was, in her mind, the right (and thus the only) thing to do.

Perhaps she was also nervous to be meeting with the lord of the house, rather than a lord of the house. She had met with many brothers, sisters, daughters, and sons in her travels, but had yet to establish an appointment with any house’s true leader. Maybe it was unwise to start with one who had the reputation that Lord Karstark had earned. Alas, it was too late now.

“Lord Karstark of Karhold,” Altheda offered, head bowed as she lowered in a shallow cursty. “Thank you for your hospitality and setting aside the time to meet with me. I know you must be quite busy.”

So I drew Torrhen. Well his eyes at least .u.