AGoT 30: Eddard VII

Ned and Ser Barristan Selmy help the Silent Sisters of the Faith of the Seven drag away the corpse of the knight killed by the Mountain at the joust.

Barristan: I stood vigil over him myself, Lord Hand. Ser Hugh had no family but a mother far away in the Vale.

Ned: Wait... what? Ser Hugh? From the Vale? That's who died in the joust?

Barristan: Yes.

Ned: Ser Hugh of the Vale? Jon Arryn's squire? The one who was just anointed? He was killed? By a giant thug who works for the Lannisters? Like... RIGHT when I was trying to interview him about some CSI investigation shit I'm doing?

Barristan: Well, I don't know anything about you trying to interview him, but yes. Also, you said "CSI investigation" but the "I" in "CSI" already stands for investigation. So technically you just said "investigation investigation."

Ned: Oh, my bad.

Barristan: No problem. Just sort of a pet peeve of mine. Like when someone says "ATM Machine."

Ned: What the fuck is an ATM?

Barristan: I have no idea. Anyway, the boy had newly forged armor. Probably cost him a pretty penny. Not sure he even paid for it yet.

Ned: Oh, he paid for it alright. With his life.

Barristan: You know what I meant, don't be a dick.

Ned: Have the armor sent to his mother in the Vale. She deserves that at least.

Barristan: And how about King Robert, huh? He insists that he's going to fight in this melee tomorrow. What a dumbass. Well, at least he'll probably forget about his drunken promises by the morning.

Ned: Oh, that's the one type of thing he won't forget about. Now I need to convince his dumb ass otherwise.

Ned reaches the King's pavilion and finds the King's two squires trying to squeeze the King's gigantic gut into his armor. 

Robert: You stupid idiots! Too incompetent to even know how to put a man into armor!

Ned: Look, I'm not saying that they're not idiots. They probably are.  But that's not why. You can't get into your armor because it looks like you found the original Robert Baratheon, cloned him six times, and then ate all seven of them.

Robert: WHAT?! How DARE you call the king fat! You better know your place, Stark!

Ned: Yeah, well, how about these two morons go run out and ask Ser Santagar for the "breastplate stretcher" to help out with this.

The two squires run away to do so. 

Everyone starts laughing when they leave. 

Barristan: Hahahaha! Breastplate stretcher?! That doesn't even exist!

Robert: Ho ho ho! Good one, Ned! Look! Even you're smiling at that one! A Stark smiling! It must be a first!

Barristan: Someone get a camera!

Ned: What the fuck is a camera?

Barristan: I have no idea.

Ned: So Robert, are those two little assholes Lannisters? They sure look like it. What with their blonde hair, beady eyes and their smarmy douche faces.

Robert: Yep. Lancel and Tyrek.

Ned: Holy crap, you've just surrounded yourself with Lannisters, haven't you? You better watch your back around them.

Robert: Well I'm married to the worst of them, ol' Icebox Cersei. Fuck that bitch. How dare she order me not to fight in that melee. I DO WHAT I WANT! Lyanna would have never told me that.

Ned: Honestly, Robert. You never really even knew Lyanna. You just have this fantasy about what she was like.

Robert: Pfft, you're just hating on me because I'm still young and have the juices for battle flowing through my veins! I'm going to win this battle! Also, ow, my hip just gave out.

Ned: And Cersei is right anyway. Besides, do you think if you win the melee it's a true victory? Do you think anyone else fighting would actually DARE to strike the King?

Robert: WHAT?! How dare you! Of course they would! I mean... wait... no... I... uhh... DAMNIT, Barristan, get out of here!

Barristan: Your grace.

Barristan leaves so that Ned and Robert can have some best bros talk. 

Robert: Damn you, Ned. Always pointing out obvious shit like that. You know, I never felt so alive as when I was fighting to become king. But now that I am king and ruling, everything sucks. I didn't even want to marry Cersei. That was Jon Arryn's idea. So that I'd have the wealth of the Lannisters supporting me in case that Viserys Targaryen douche ever tried to return. I just want to run away from all this and go fighting. Be a warrior or sell sword somewhere! But I know if I do that... then my little douchey boy Joffrey will be in charge. And holy shit that would be a bad idea. Look man, I know he lied about that direwolf thing. I'm sorry we had to kill your girl's wolf.  Some days I wonder how a boy that bad could be of my own blood.

Ned: Hahaha, yeah. I know, right?  Wait... no... say that again.

Robert: I said "some days I wonder how Joffrey could be of my own blood."

Ned pulls out his CSI notebook and scribbles that down. 

The two then change the subject and talk about the jousting for a bit. Eventually the night passes on and it's morning. They have breakfast and Robert is in a good mood. He agrees not to go fighting and talks about the good old days when they were younger. The old Robert starts to come out, and this makes Ned optimistic that maybe the old Robert is indeed buried in there somewhere (beneath many, many, many, many layers of fat). Maybe Robert will listen when Ned is ready to drop his truth bombs about the Lannisters and their plotting. 

Ned then heads off to the tournament to sit with Sansa today. Septa Mordane is still recovering from her hangover and Jeyne Poole was too horrified by the bloodshed to come back again. Sansa still loves this shit though. 

Sansa: Oh hey dad! Isn't this tournament just the BEST?!

Ned: *grumble*

Littlefinger: Okay, first fight up... The Hound versus Jaime Lannister! I got all my money on Jaime! I know a dog knows better than to bite the hand that feeds it! Who wants to bet?

Random Person: Uh, me?

The Hound then defeats Jaime.  Littlefinger forks over the money. 

Sansa: I knew the Hound would win!

Littlefinger: Oh shit, look at the Three-Eyed Crow over here that can see the fucking future! Dear Sansa, how about you tell me who wins the next round so I don't lose all my cash? Also, let me smell your panties.

Ned: Dude, I'm right here and will punch your face in.

Up next is The Mountain versus Loras Tyrell. Ned thinks about all these crazy stories they say about the Mountain. One is that during the war... The Mountain tracked down Rhaegar Targaryen's wife Ella Martel and raped her and murdered their son, Aegon, by bashing his head against a wall. There are also rumors about the murder of two of his wives, his sister, his father, and the burning of his brother's face. Usually Ned doesn't pay attention to this type of gossip.  But with the Mountain he can actually believe these stories. This is seriously one messed up, evil dude.

Sansa: Oh daddy, please tell me that Loras will be safe!

Ned: Of course he will, darling. These lances are designed to break.

Sansa: You mean just like with the one yesterday where the Mountain decapitated that guy?

Ned: Touché.

The two combatants run towards one another, but The Mountain has trouble controlling his horse. It's acting crazy and has a mysterious horse hard-on. Meanwhile, Loras's ride is all smooth like it has power steering. The Knight of Flowers easily takes down the Mountain and everyone cheers. 

Sansa: Yay! That's my new boyfriend! Don't tell Joffrey. 

The Mountain picks himself up and his furious. Being a punk ass, he blames his horse and calls for his sword. He then decapitates his horse and the whole crowd is shell shocked by that horrific, horse-murdering bullshit. The Mountain then walks over towards Ser Loras and knocks him off his horse. As he goes in to deliver a blow, The Hound comes in for the rescue. 

Crowd: Oh SHIT! OH SHIT! It's Clegane-Bowl everyone! CLEGANE BOWL!!!

They grab popcorn. 

Robert: STOP THIS! STOP THIS AT ONCE!

The Mountain glares at the King and drops his sword. He storms off, pouting. 

Crowd: Awwww! Damnit, we wanted Clegane Bowl!

Loras: Sandor, I owe you my life! I don't think we need to have the final match here. I think we all know who the real winner is today. THIS GUY!

Loras holds up The Hound's arm and points at him. 

Crowd: I know we, overall, should feel gypped by this end. But let's go ahead and cheer for the Hound. Yay Hound!

Littlefinger: Oh man, I could tell Loras's mare was in heat. I bet he knew that and used that horse on purpose, knowing it would make the Mountain's horse all horny and crazy.

Ned: Gross. You're so sex obsessed that you even are thinking about horse sex.

With the jousting tournament over and The Hound the winner, they head over to Archery next. But nobody cares about that and some due named Anguy wins. After that is the big melee. Thoros of Myr wins it with HOLY SHIT, A SWORD THAT SETS ITSELF ON FIRE!!!  Like a bazillion people are injured during the fight. 

Ned: I am so glad the King sobered up and decided not to fight in that one. That fire sword thing is whack.

That night at the feast, everyone is happy and Ned is in a good mood too. Sansa and Arya are even talking to each other. 

Sansa: Ew, why do you have all of those bruises, Arya?

Arya: Uhh... my... "dancing instructor."

Sansa: You must be a terrible dancer.

Ned: I hope this Syrio guy isn't being too hard on you, Arya.

Arya: Every injury is a lesson that makes you better.

Ned: Whatever, I know arguing with you will be useless.

Later Ned returns to his solar for the night and stares at the dagger that was used in the attempt on Bran's life. He thinks about it. Why would Tyrion want Bran dead? How is it linked to the death of Jon Arryn? Why was Jon so interested in King Robert's bastard children like Genrdy and this other bastard named Edric Storm? These are two different people, mind you. Definitely two different people, sorry of that confuses you TV-show-only people. 

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Ned: Damn, this chapter is still going, huh? A long one. Who is it?

Man in Disguise: Just a random man in disguise. Open up.

Ned: What do you want?

Man in Disguise: Let me in and close the door first and I'll tell you.

Ned does so. 

Man in Disguise: It's me!

He pulls his disguise off. It's Varys. 

Ned: Oh shit, the disguise was solid. I had no idea it was you.

Varys: Good, I don't want Queen Cersei to know I was meeting with you.

Ned: And why is that?

Varys: Because I have heard some secret rumors about the Queen. My little birds say that she was plotting to have the King murdered in the melee!

Ned: Oh shit! Really? Maybe that's something you could have told me BEFORE the melee though.

Varys: I didn't know whether to trust you or not then. There are two types of people here - those loyal to the crown and those only loyal to themselves. So many people are not true to their word and shift alliances on a whim. But you gave the king advice for him not to participate. You really want to protect him. I know I can trust you.

Ned: Wait, how does this make any sense? Cersei was specifically telling the King NOT to participate in the melee. If she wanted him to be killed in the melee, then why did she beg him not to participate?

Varys: Did she really beg him not to participate? Or did she ORDER him not to participate? And in a very public manner in front of everyone else.

Ned: Goddamn it, Varys, you're RIGHT! The one way to make sure Robert does something is to publicly order him NOT to do that very thing. He's like a petulant child in that way. Plus doing so publicly gives Cersei cover. That way even if the murderer gets caught and names her - there are a ton of witnesses that saw Cersei tell the king not to participate and the murderer would look like a liar. That's some deep, manipulative, evil Lannister plotting there. And I bet they'll plot to kill him yet again!

Varys: No doubt. We must be ever watchful.

Ned: You know what, Varys? You're a stand-up dude coming to me like this. I hated your weird, bald, no-ball ass at first. But I think we can bro it out from now on.

Varys: Oh, thank you. But in public you must continue to show contempt for me like before. We must not let the Lannisters on. Or any other plotters who might be involved.

Ned: Yeah. Who knows who could have been involved? It could be anyone. Just like with Jon Arryn's death. And hey - do your little birds know any more about that death?

Varys: Oh yes, I might as well tell you now that I know I can trust you. He was given the Tears of Lys, a very rare and costly poison.

Ned: Poison! I knew it! But who administered it?

Varys: It could have been one of a number of people, but after today I think the answer is obvious. His squire, Hugh.

Ned: SHIT, you're right! And now he's dead! Killed by a Lannister hitman. Another Lannister loose end cleaned up. This is hardcore. So now I know that he was killed and by who. But the biggest question of all... WHY?

Varys: Obvious, Ned. For asking too many questions. Just like you're doing right now.

Ned: Oh, that's reassuring.

AGoT 29: Sansa II

Sansa is riding to the Hand's Tournament with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole and it is the BEST THING EVER. Her dad must be so proud of this tournament being held in his name.

Sansa: Look at all those handsome Kingsguards in their white, except for Jaime who gets to also wear gold for some reason. And wow, look at that Mountain guy Gregor Clegane. He's probably such a stand-up guy. Oh look, there's Yohn Royce. He wears armor that's thousands of years old and protected by ancient runes.

Yohn: Has anyone seen my son Waymar? Hello? Hello? My son Waymar was in the Prologue chapter and nobody has seen him since. Can anyone help me?

Septa Mordane: And look girls, there is Jason Mallister. You can tell from his eagle-winged helmet.

Sansa: Oh, look at that guy! Hehehe! He's so weird looking.

Septa Mordane: That's Thoros of Myr. He once scaled the walks of Pyke with a flaming sword, when he helped to defeat the Greyjoys. And just in case you wanted to know, Jorah Mormont was there at that battle too. Not that it matters. I mean Jorah is an exile over in Essos now, so the possibility that Jorah and Thoros would be reunited for any type of scene is highly dubious.

Jeyne: Oh wow, look at that dark guy, Jalabhar Xho. He's so scary looking!

Sansa: Wow, that's pretty racist Jeyne.

Jeyne: But that guy over there... Beric Dondarrion. WOW! So handsome!

Sansa: Wait... you're crushing on Beric? I really hope he's younger in the books because that is sort of gross, Jeyne.

Sansa continues to watch all the knights go buy. It's so amazing! Just like the songs, but even better!

They watch the tourney from a place of honor, and watch the jousts go on.  Everyone from Winterfell is absolutely shitty, with the exception of Jory Cassel who wins two matches but then loses a third one by decision of the King.

When riders collide, Jeyne often hides her eyes. But Sansa continues to watch because she's a FUCKING LADY.  Septa Mordane nods in approval. 

The jousting goes on all day. Jaime Lannister defeats Barristan Selmy. The Hound and the Mountain seem to be kicking everyone's ass. Some unfortunate ugly-looking young knight with some crescent moon on his chest has to go up against the Mountain next. Sansa doesn't even know who it is.  The moons are, like, from the Vale of Aryyn or something. That's where Aunt Lysa lives. But still, she doesn't care about this dude at all. 

The Mountain charges and impales him with his lance. The dude falls off his horse, completely fucking dead and bleeding out like a burst open fire hydrant.

Sansa: I feel nothing. There will be no songs sung of this poor, unlucky bastard. He'll be immediately forgotten and his death will bare no ramifications on any follow-up chapters or separate narratives.

They drag his corpse off the field, throw some dirt over the blood and keep the jousts going.  Next Renly faces the Hound and the Hound knocks him off his horse so hard that one of the antlers on Renly's helm breaks off. The Hound tosses it into the crowd and they fight over it like a foul ball. 

Now there are only four left in the tournament - The Hound, the Mountain, Jaime, and the Knight of Flowers AKA Ser Loras Tyrell. All day long, Loras gave pretty white flowers to the ladies. But this time he rides up to Sansa and gives her a red flower. 

Loras: No victory is half so beautiful as you.

Sansa: Oh my god, I just came.

Littlefinger: Oh hey there Sansa, I'm here too and I've been staring at you the whole time. Your hair is just like your mother's. Hawt. You having your period yet or what?

He touches her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and then walks away. 

Sansa: Aaaaand, I just un-came.

King Robert: Okay everyone, it's getting late. Let's have the last three matches tomorrow. Now let's all eat and get shitfaced!

And they close up the jousting for the night and head over to the feast.  There, she has a seat next to Joffrey. They haven't talked since Lady's death, so she had no idea how Joffrey would act around her. But he starts complementing her for being beautiful and pours her and Septa Mordane some wine. Sansa knows that nothing is Joffey's fault. Joffrey is a wonderful, misunderstood guy and everything is really fucking Arya's fault. Yeah. Arya. 

Sansa: Thank you so much, Joffrey! You're so awesome! Do you think the Knight of Flowers is going to win tomorrow?

Joffrey: Hell no! It will be my uncle Jaime or the Hound. But that's only because I'm not fighting in the tournament! Once day I'll be in it and I'll kick everyone's ass because I'm so talented and awesome!

But their happy time together gets disrupted by the noise coming from the super drunk and angry king. 

Robert: SHUT UP, BITCH! YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I DO WHAT I WANT! DON'T TELL ME NOT TO FIGHT! IF I WANT TO FIGHT TOMORROW, I'LL FIGHT!

Queen Cersei rolls her eyes and walks away. Jaime walks over to the King and the King pushes him to the ground. 

Robert: Haha Kingslayer bitch! See, I can still kick your ass! Give me my war hammer and I can kick everyone's ass! I'm going to fight in this skirmish tomorrow!

Joffrey: It's getting late, dear Sansa. Would you like an escort back to your room?

Sansa: Yes, I would! Very much so!

She gets super happy and excited, knowing that Joffrey will walk her back to her place. Septa Mordane is all drunk and asleep now... so she can't cockblock. Sansa might even let Joffrey get to second base just to make sure he's not angry at her for any reason.

Joffrey: Great! Okay Hound, come escort Sansa back!

Sansa: WHAT?!

Hound: Hahaha, you dumb bitch. You didn't think he'd do it himself, did you?

And so the Hound escorts Sansa back to the Tower of the Hand. It's awkward as hell. Sansa refuses to look him in the face because a proper lady shouldn't comment on such things as his burnt skin. She tries to make some polite small talk but it all fails.

Hound: Oh come on bitch, just out with it already. You want to know how this happened?

Sansa: No! Please! I don't, ser.

Hound: Ser? I'm no knight like my douche brother. Look at you, reciting pretty words that your Septa taught you. Fuck that. You want to know what "noble" knights like my brother are like? He did this to me.  When we were kids I wanted to play with one of his toys, so he grabbed me and held my face into a fucking fire and burned half of my damn face off. Now I look like Harvey Dent. That's some fucked up shit, right?  So much for chivalrous knights anointed in fucking blesses oils.

Sansa: He... he is no true knight then.

Hound: Oh wow, BIG FUCKING DETECTIVE COLOMBO YOU ARE THERE! Another mystery solved! 

Finally, they arrive at Sansa's bedchamber where the Hound drops her off. 

Hound: Have a nice night's sleep. Oh yeah, and if you tell anyone this story about my brother and my face I WILL KILL YOU. Sweet dreams.

AGoT 28: Catelyn V

Cat and Ser Rodrick Cassel are riding North on the Kingsroad towards Winterfell. But it's still a long way to go. A light rain falls.

Rodrick: You should cover yourself m'lady. You'll catch a chill in this rain.

Cat: Please, I enjoy this weather. It reminds me of the rains in Riverrun growing up with Lysa, Edmure and Littlefinger. Much better than that rain in the north which is like hail.

Rodrick: M'lady, it's getting late. Perhaps we should pull aside and make camp and a fire. Besides, there are shadowcats running around at night.

Cat: Oh shit. SHADOWCATS? That sounds awesome. Why is this entire chapter and/or the entire book series not just all about Shadowcats? I smell a spinoff.

Rodrick: M'lady, please.

Cat: Look, There is an inn at the crossroads not far from here. It's called "Inn at the Crossroads." Nobody is quite sure how it got its name. This fat lady named Masha Heddle runs it. Oh, I have so many memories of her and those jacked up teeth of hers. She used to always offer me sweet cakes. We can go there instead.

Rodrick: It's pretty busy and crowded there. We wouldn't want anyone to notice you. Best to stay away from places like that.

Just then, a party of soldiers led by Lord Jason Mallister, bannerman to her father Hoster Tully, pass right by them. Mallister doesn't bat an eye at Cat. 

Cat: See? Look at that! I'm so filthy and disheveled from this riding that not even the bannerman to my father would recognize me. Come on, let's get to that Inn!

Rodrick: Kind of a big fucking coincidence that happened right when we were having that particular conversation.

Cat: Shut up.

They head to the Inn and get a table in a far corner. Sure enough, nobody recognizes Cat - not even Masha Heddle.

Cat: Damn, she's even uglier than I remember.

They change into dry clothes and sit down for supper. As they do so, Cat drifts into deep thought about which way they should go. Here at the Crossroads they can go any direction. She could go west to Riverrun to warn her family and see her sick father. She could go east to the Eryie and see that crazy sister Lysa. In the end, she decides continuing on to Winterfell is the best course of action. But she continues to wonder about the reliability of the bannermen in these areas if they indeed have to take up war against the Lannisters. Sure, her own people are solid. But what about those asshole Freys? They showed up late in the last war and only after the winning side had been determined. And some other houses up here sided with the Targayrens in the last big war. But her daydreaming is cut off by...

Marillion: -HEY THERE! I'm Marillion. Surely you've heard of me. I'm a super famous singer. I write ballads that get the girls' panties wet.

Cat: Never heard of you.

Rodrick: Nope. And you're so important most of your content will be cut from the TV show.

Marillion: DAMNIT! I get gut and yet they have time to add Ed Fucking Sheeran into the show? Anyway, pay me some silver and I'll sing you a song.

Rodrick: I'd rather take your lyre and throw it down a fucking well, along with you.

Marillion: Geez, harsh crowd. You know, I'm kind of a big deal in Riverrun. I'm like best friends with Lord Tully.

Cat: Bullshit. My brother hates singers.

And just as they're talking, the door bursts open. Tyrion Lannister and a crew including Yoren and some other folks walks in.

Tyrion Lannister: WHATTUP BITCHES?! Tyrion in da house! On my way back down to King's Landing from Winterfell! Let me get a room, some food and some bitches for the night! A bath too. I guess that could go before the bitches because I smell like ass.

Masha Heddle: We're out of rooms, sorry.

Tyrion: Well, I guess I'd only need a... SMALL ROOM!

Yoren: Oh shit, good one.

Masha Heddle: I said no rooms! Go sleep in the stable.

Tyrion: Is that so? Well check out this gold coin I have here! Anyone interested?

Random Dude: Uhm... Me!

Tyrion tosses the coin to the man.

Tyrion: See that shit there, people? He paid some silver for a room. Now there are no rooms left and thus the value of the rooms are now greater than when he initially paid. He can therefore trade the room for gold now, making a tidy profit. This man is the OG house flipper. It's like he's trading stocks and now he's in the black.  Let that be a lesson to you all on the value of capitalism. Now somebody send some roast fowl up to my new room because I'm fucking starving. Yoren, care to join me?

But then, Marillion's fame-thirsty self runs over. 

Marillion: Oh, Lord Lannister! Please let me play you a song about your father's victory at King's Landing!

Tyrion: That would be a great idea if anyone suspected I had food poisoning and I needed to throw up all my food. No thanks, dickwad.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go up and--- FUCK, is that Cat Stark? CAT!!! I missed you in Winterfell! The boys say hi!

Cat: Sonofabitch.

Everyone turns and looks at Cat, finally recognizing her.

Rodrick: Who told you that coming here was a terrible idea and that you'd be noticed? OH RIGHT, ME.

Tyrion: Whattup girl? You're looking kind of rough and dirty, but I'd still hit it.

Cat stands up. 

Cat: I see in this room a number of men-at-arms.  Brackens, Freys, Whents. You are all sworn to the house of my father, Lord Holster Tulley. Tell me... are you true to my father?

She gets a somewhat muted and confused response.

Tyrion: Cat... what the hell is this all about?

Cat: Well, if you ARE true, then know this. This little imp here was a guest in my home. While a guest, he sent an assassin to murder my son, Bran. In the name of King Robert, I order you to help me seize this man and bring him to the King's justice in Winterfell!

Tyrion: Hahaha, oh man. What kind of hilarious practical joke is this? Also, your timeline is a bit off. Technically I had already left for Castle Black by the time an assassin was sent to kill your boy, so I wouldn't have done it WHILE I was a guest at your house. Moot point though, because I didn't do it at all. I'm innocent of the charges and surely nobody here would believe you that I--

And suddenly Tyrion is silent as a dozen swords surround his neck. 

Cat: Hahaha, oh man. I don't know what's more satisfying. All those swords surrounding you or the look on your shitty little imp face.

AGoT 27: Eddard VI

Ned: Oh shit, its it time for another Ned chapter already? I wasn't prepared. Not sure why there is the mad rush for another me chapter again. I'm the protagonist of these novels. Surely I'll be around for the next six books or so.

Ned gets his shit in order, shuffling his papers around to be prepared for this next scene. 

The Commander of the City Watch, Janos "Sheriff Joe" Slynt, is before Ned and the King's Small Council, making the case that security needs to be increased. 

Janos: All these Mexicans and brown people and rapists are in town for this Hand's Tournament. Things are crazy! I need more men.

Ned: Fine, I'll grant you fifty extra watchmen. Littlefinger will arrange the money for it.

Littlefinger: The hell I will. Fifty men? That's crazy talk.

Ned: If you could find the money for the King's purse to award the winners of this tournament, then surely you can scrap together a few coins for the security of it. And to show I put my money where my mouth is for this security nonsense - I will lend 20 of my own men to support the city watch for the duration of the tournament.

Littlefinger: Hrm, I suppose you should. After all... it is the Hand's Tournament.

Ned: Okay, that's it. The next asshole who calls this "the Hand's Tournament" gets Ice slammed into his fucking gut. This is not my tournament. I have nothing to do with this shit. Why the king thinks this is an honor to me is beyond my understanding. I just want to go home.

Pycelle: It is a great honor to have a tournament. It's good for the realm! Many men find honor and purpose.

Littlefinger: And it's really good for revenue! All the people who come into town and spend, spend, spend! After these tournaments, the whores always walk bowlegged! Get it? Because they get fucked so much!

Ned: You are one sick, gross asshole, Littlefinger. You know that?

Littlefinger: Yes.

Renly: You know, my dick brother Stannis once proposed making the brothels illegal.  Robert joked that after that they should outlaw shitting, eating and breathing next. Haha.  It's a wonder Stannis even has that little stone-faced girl Shireen. I can't believe that dude ever had sex. He probably treats it like a part of duty. Like going onto the battlefield. Only he's probably more turned on by the battlefield.

Everyone laughs except Ned, who is trapped in deep thought about Stannis. 

Ned (internally): Hrm... Why did Stannis flee King's Landing so quickly? He left town faster than a fat man tearing up a Golden Corral buffet. There is something odd here.

Later, Ned is back in the Tower of the Hand. He summons Jory Cassel and as he waits he thumbs through the book that Pycelle had recently given him. 

Ned: Interesting.  "Lineages of the Great Houses" by Grand Maester Malleon. Why was this the book Jon wanted to read? So tedious and written ages ago. Just a bunch of bullshit about the houses. And look at this nonsense about Lann the Clever, supposed founder of the House Lannister. Fuck those guys.

Jory walks in. 

Jory: Ser, about those leads you had me follow up on... it, unfortunately, didn't lead to much.  Ser Hugh of the Vale was arrogant and didn't tell me shit. He said he wanted to speak only with you. Fuck that guy, I hope he gets lanced in the throat. The serving girl only mentioned that Jon Arryn was always reading and was super concerned about his frail son and crazy wife. The pot boy didn't have anything other than gossip and talked about how Jon went to a new armorer named Tobho Mott. And the stable boy said that Jon was super healthy like a man half his age and was always riding around with Lord Stannis.

Ned: What? STANNIS? Jon didn't even like Stannis. Nobody likes Stannis. Why would those two hang out?

Jory: The stableboy says the two even rode off to a brothel together.

Ned: Stannis? At a brothel? Never! Why earlier in this chapter we just had conveniently timed exposition to prove that point.  This is quite the mystery. *scribbles down notes in CSI book*

Jory: The stable boy said he didn't know which brothel though. Only the guards who took them there would know. And those guards went back to the Eyrie with Lysa after Jon died.

Ned: This is crazy. Anyone who knows anything is gone. And Stannis's name keeps coming up. Why? Did he know something? Was he involved? Stannis would never flee town out of fear. Nothing can scare this man. This is the man who survived the year long siege of Storm's End by eating rats.

Jory: Gross. Should we send a raven to Dragonstone to call him back?

Ned: Not yet, Jory. Not yet. I need to do some more CSI'ing of my own. I need to visit that armorer! Jory, you visit the brothels and follow that lead. 

Jory: Hahaha, okay. I can do that. Sounds like some hard duty to me!

Ned: Indeed.

Jory: HARD. Duty. Get it? Because the erectile tissue in my penis--

Ned: --Yes asshole, I got it. Damn, you're worse than Littlefinger sometimes.

Jory leaves to go brothel hopping while Ned gets ready to go to the armorer. As he does, he contemplates more. Why would Jon Arryn ride around with Stannis? Why not bring Renly too? And what was up with that creeper Renly? Just the other day Renly showed him a picture of his fiance - some gal named Margery Tyrell - and asked him if he thought it looked like Lyanna. What the fuck was that all about? And why would Jon Arryn want a fancy, garish new suit of armor anyway when he was the type of guy who thought armor should be practical for combat rather than for show? None of this made any damn sense. 

Ned rides through town on the way to the armory and passes by knights coming into town, preparing for the tournament. Along the way by the Mud Gate he passes Lord Beric Dondarrion and his retinue. 

Ned: Hrm, some minor character. Probably won't be that important. I'll just forget about him.

Stark continues on, and finds the armorer.

Tobho Mott: Hey! Big fancy Hand of the King! Wow! The second Hand of the King to visit me... and so soon after the last one! Can I get you some wine? I always like my customers to be drunk and willing to make poor spending decisions before I sell them expensive armor. By the way, I can work Valyrian Steel. I'm the best! The Knight of Flowers always comes here to buy his armor.

Ned: Did the last Hand come here to buy a helm from you?

Tobho: That cheap bitch didn't by shit. He just wanted to talk to my apprentice, Gendry.

Ned: Hrmmmm. Can I speak with this boy too?

Tobho: UGH. FUCK. You too? Fine then.

They head over to the forge to see this apprentice.

Ned: Hello there young ser, I'm Ned Stark and I.... HOLY SHIT... you look just like King Robert.

Gendry: Huh?

Ned: I mean... uhh...  nice helm. It looks like a bull. Can I buy it?

Gendry: Hell no! That's mine.

Tobho: My apologies, Lord Stark! Gendry, you will sell that shit to this good man if he asks.

Ned: No, no, no. That's fine. No need to apologize for anything. So Gendry, what did Jon Arryn talk with you about?

Gendry: Weird shit. Like how old I was, if I was well treated. Who my mom was.

Ned: I see, I see. And who is your mom?

Gendry: I dunno. Some dead blonde alehouse wench.

Ned furiously writes everything down in his CSI notebook. 

Ned: Blonde, you say? Hrmmm. Interesting. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Gendry.

Ned and Tobho walk away. 

Ned: So, who paid his fee to be an apprentice?

Tobho: Oh, I took him in for free because he's so strong! Just look at him.

Ned: Bullshit.

Tobho: Hahaha, okay. Some random lord paid me twice the amount it was supposed to be and told me to keep quiet. But other than that, I don't know shit.

Ned: So you're claiming you don't know who his father is?

Tobho: Hey look, man. I wasn't there at conception. I don't ask questions like that. I just make armor and swords.

Ned: Haha, I like you Tobho. You keep it real.

Tobho: Just trying to make a dime. If the time comes that you're dead and I get a chance to melt that sword of yours, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Ned: What?

Tobho: Nothing. Keep it real, my man. And buy some shit one day rather than window shop.

Ned: If I ever need a helm to scare children, I'll come here. And let me know if that boy Gendry ever wants to wield a weapon one day rather than make one. He looks like he could kick some ass.

Tobho: You know, given Season 7 developments - that really seems to be some foreshadowing.

Ned gets back on his horse and begins riding back to town, wondering why the fuck Jon Aryyn and Stannis Baratheon were so interested in a King's bastard.

AGoT 26: Jon IV

Jon is helping the other recruits of the Night's Watch train at Castle Black because now he realizes he was a bit of an elitist douchenozzle to everyone previously.  As he makes new friends through training, this giant fat kid shows up. 

Jon: Oh shit! This kid is fatter than King Robert!

Sam: Hi, I'm Samwell. I'm here for training.

Pyp: Hrm, based on the cadence and rhythmical patterns within your voice, difficulty with dental fricatives, and confusion of post-alveolar affricates with their fricative counterparts, I  am going to go ahead and say that you're from the Reach. Perhaps Highgarden? No... south of the river Mander, for sure.

Jon: Pyp, that is a way too specific skill for anyone to care about or to have any use on the Wall.

Sam: He's right! I'm from Horn Hill. My name is Tarley.

Alliser Thorne: Oh look! A new piece of shit recruit to make fun of now that everybody likes Jon Fucking Snow. I will call you piggy.

Everyone laughs. 

Alliser: Haha, see? I'm still cool. Oh, and nice armor fatass.

Sam: Thanks?

Alliser: You can throw it in the garbage though, since it's not black. You'll have to get outfitted with new gear. Go to the armory. Although I'm sure we'll have to sew together three existing suits in order to get one that fits you.

Sam leaves and comes back with new armor. That was quick. 

Alliser: Okay, let's send Halder against you.

Halder: Sweet.

Halder beats the shit out of Sam in about negative two seconds. 

Sam: AGHHH!! I yield! I yield!

Alliser: Well get up you fat pussy and fight again.

Sam: Nah, I think I'll stay here on the ground crying.

Alliser: Halder, beat the shit out of him with the back of your sword until he gets back up.

Halder: Okay.

*BAM*

Sam: OW! Shit!

Alliser: Come on Halder, you can git harder than that!

*BAMMMMMMM*

Jon: Stop this! There is no honor in continuing to hit a defeated foe!

Alliser: Says the asshat who was doing exactly that for the first two months he was here at Castle Black.

Jon goes to help Sam up.

Alliser: Oh look, Lord Snow is defending his lady love. Well this is my dojo, son. I can send my warriors against you. Halder, Rast, Albett... ATTACK!

Jon: Oh shit! Alliser has sent two men against me before, but never three! Could this be the end of Jon Snow? Also... who the hell is Albett?

Pimple: Me, I'm Albett. My nickname is Pimple. Don't worry about me though, after this book I pretty much never appear again.

Jon: Strange. I guess you get killed off or something? By Wildlings?

Pimple: Nope, George R.R. Martin just forgets I exist.

The three attack Jon and, hypothetically, Sam. But Sam isn't much of a fighter so it's really still three-on-one.

Pyp: No, we're here to help too, Jon!

Grenn: Yes... it's us! Pyp and Grenn!

Now the fight is three-on-three and team Snow wins. Alliser walks away grumbling and kicking rocks. 

Halder: Oh damnit, I almost had you that time, Jon.

Jon: Haha, you almost did! That's the kind of thing I say now that I'm fun-loving Jon who gets along with everyone, including the people I fight against. But seriously, you got that good hit in and totally fucked up my shoulder! Ow, I can't get my helmet off because you might have broken my fucking shoulder bone and I can't move my arm.

Sam: Here, let me help.

Sam helps Jon get his helmet off.

Jon: Why didn't you fight back?

Sam: Because I'm a coward.

Jon: Wow, that was super direct and to the point. Nobody really admits that shit. Why would you call yourself a coward?

Sam: Because I'm a coward. Always have been, always will be. My dad always said so.

Jon: Your dad sounds like a dick and I hope he gets burned alive by a dragon.

Sam: What?

Jon: Huh?

Sam: Okay, I'm going to go now.

Jon: Hey man, I can teach you to fight. Tomorrow... you'll do better!

Sam: No I won't.

Grenn: Man, what a fucking loser. I can't believe that. Nobody likes cowards. Jon, promise me we won't become friends with him because everyone will think we're cowards too.

Pyp: [Long, convoluted joke about a bear in the woods that is an allegory for cowardliness].

That evening, Jon is throwing gravel on top of the Wall because that ice gets slippery as hell. He's contemplating Sam admitting his cowardice. He thinks back to Tyrion's stories about denying the truth. At least Sam isn't denying the truth. At any rate, Jon finishes his important rock throwing work and then heads down to the Castle Black cafeteria. Instead of sitting with his buds, he sits with Sam. 

Jon: Hey Sam, meet my direwolf.

Ghost: *woof* [Translation: This dude smells like bacon, can I eat him?]

Sam: I'm scared of that too. I'm scared of everything.

Jon: Let's go outside and talk.

And so they walk and talk. 

Sam: I hate this place. It's so cold. I'd never even seen snow in my life before. All the castle is crumbling down. Everyone hates me.

Jon: Okay, let's go to the top of the Wall and look at the world. Sometimes that helps me clear my mind.

Sam: No, I'm scared of heights too.

Jon: What about that blade of grass over there?

Sam: Scared of it. It's called a "blade." It could probably cut me.

Jon: Why would someone who is afraid of everything join the Night's Watch?

Sam: *starts crying*

Ghost: *woof* [Translation: Oh yes, now is my chance! Delicious bacon tears!]

Ghost licks Sam's face. Everyone starts laughing for some reason.  Jon then tells a story about a freaky recurring dream about Winterfell's crypt and his lost uncle Benjen. Jon asks Sam if he ever had dreams about Horn Hill. Sam then recounts his entire life story as Jon tries not to fall asleep. Bottom line - Sam likes books and music and dancing rather than fighting, which makes his father hate him. 

Jon: I told you, he sounds like a really messed up guy.

Sam: So one day he took me into the woods to go hunting. He told me to renounce my claim to Horn Hill as the oldest brother and to join the Watch. If I said no then there would be a "hunting accident" and I'd be brought home dead.

Jon: Oh shit, Cat Stark tried to kill me in "accidents" like four times a week. That's messed up man. Still, you've had a rough first day. Time to get some sleep, okay.

And so Sam goes off to sleep while Jon goes back to finish dinner.

Jon: Hey dudes, why did nobody want to hang out with Sam?

Grenn: Hey, there were plenty of spots on the benches by us. He just chose not to sit with us because he's a craven.

Jon: Okay, well from now on I don't want anyone fucking with Sam or kicking his ass, no matter what Thorne says.

Rast: Fuck that, if Ser Alliser says to fight Lady Piggy, then I'm going to cut me off a slice of bacon, if you know what I mean!

Ghost: *woof* [Translation: Yes, I do!]

Jon: Oh, well... maybe tonight Pyp, Grenn, Ghost and me will visit your room and scare the shit out of you by having Ghost threaten to eat your neck. Then you'll see things differently.

Rast: Doubt it.

Later that night, they do just that. 

Rast: Okay, FUCK. I won't mess with Sam.

The next day, Sam is sent to fight but nobody will kick his ass. 

Alliser: Come on! COME ON! Beat the shit out of him! AGHHHH! I hate all of you!

Alliser storms off again, kicking more rocks.

Sam: Thanks for looking out for me Jon, you're a true friend.

Jon: We're not friends, Sam. Here in the Night's Watch... we're all brothers!

AGoT 25: Eddard V

Ned is meeting with Grand Maester Pycelle. It is hot as fuck. 

Pycelle: Oh, it's so damn hot. Not the hottest ever though. That was back in the days of King Maekar. Serving wench, get us some cold sweet milk!

Ned: Okay, so Pycelle. I'd like to talk about--

Pycelle: --Ah, that summer was so hot and it lasted seven whole years. I remember being a young lad, getting my Maester chain formed. It was--

Ned: Dude, I don't care about this. I'm here to talk to you about about Jon Arryn.

The serving wench comes back with the milk and hands it to them both. 

Pycelle: Ah, so refreshing!

Ned: Oh, I think I'm going to vomit in my mouth. What the fuck is this shit? Milk full of fucking sugar? You know in Winterfell we drink beer when it's warm. And by warm I mean anything above freezing.

Pycelle: Jon Arryn. He was a sad man, but healthy. His sickness came suddenly. A total shock. One day fine and asking to borrow a book from me. The next day... BOOM, dead!

Ned: Hrmm, a book you say?

He pulls out his trusty CSI notebook and writes that down. 

Ned: And I've heard a story that you sent his Maester away when Jon was getting sicker?

Pycelle: Oh yeah, Maester Colemon. Total dipshit. Jon would have died if that moron kept treating him. Well, I guess he died anyway. But he would have died even sooner.  He's all into that holistic zen bullshit like liberal White women. I'm pretty sure that moron got his medical advice from Gwyneth Paltrow off of Goop.

Ned: And as Jon lay dying... did he have any final words?

Pycelle: Yes, he kept talking about "Robert." He said it over and over again. Maybe he was talking about his son. Maybe he was talking about the King. Robert Blackwood? Robert Frey? Probably not Robert Quince, the castellan of Dragonstone who was murdered there during the Dance of Dragons.

Ned: Well, that's not helpful. Did he say anything else?

Pycelle: Yes. He said, "the seed is strong."

Ned: Uh... did he take up planting or something?

Pycelle: No, I assume he was talking about his son, Robert.

Ned: Please, have you seen his shitty little weak son? Doubt it. But I'll write that down in my CSI notebook anyway. So, moving on... was there anything else strange or different about his death? His wife Lysa seemed to think so.

Pycelle: Meh, Lysa is a crazy bitch. But to answer your question... every death is strange and different. And yet every death is the same.

Ned: That sounds like some deep Tyrion shit there. Any reason you'd think he could have been poisoned?

Pycelle: Poison? A woman's weapon! Or virtual women like eunuchs. Or people from the east. If you catch my drift. I'm talking about Varys.

Ned: Yes, I got it. Well, I think I'll excuse myself now.  Oh, but before I go there is... just one more thing. That book you mentioned earlier. The one Jon wanted to borrow from you. What was it? I'd like to see it myself.

Pycelle: Ugh, some boring book about lineages. I guess I can try to find it for you. You won't find it interesting though.  I think he was trying to get into genealogy or something. He just couldn't wait until the invention of Ancestry DNA, which I fear is still a very long away from now.

Ned: Okay, cool. Peace out.

Ned leaves and returns to the Tower of the Hand. There he finds Arya standing on one foot.

Ned: Whattup Aly Raisman?

Arya: That's a pretty shitty comparison. She didn't even medal on balance beams since she's more of a Floor Exercise specialist. You should have said "Shawn Johnson." She got gold in Beijing.

Ned: So, what the hell does Syrio have you up to now?

Arya: Syrio says that an experienced water dancer can stand on one toe for hours. So that's what I'm trying to do.

Ned: Yeah, and you'll probably fall and bruise yourself a bunch.

Arya: Water dancers don't fall!

Ned: Hrm, I heard some similar shit like that from your brother Bran and you see how that went.

Arya: Bran! Is he coming down here, father? Now that he's awake again he should join us. And he's going to come and join the Kingsguard, right?

Ned: Uh, no. Bran needs to get a lot stronger before he can travel. And he won't be able to be a knight anymore. But I'm sure there are plenty of things he could do instead as a cripple in a medieval-like society. For insance, uhmm... I dunno. Septon or something? Maybe an architect. Councilor, I suppose.

Arya: Those sound pretty cool. Can I do that?

Ned: Hahaha, no Arya. You're a girl which means you just marry a king and pop out babies.

Arya: No, that's Sansa shit there. It's not me.

Ned shakes his head at his little girl. Just what is he going to do with her? 

Later he finds himself back in his room where Baelish joins him. 

Littlefinger: Ah, whattup Hand of the King? Man, look outside your window at all these lords practicing their fighting skills. Looking forward to this tournament?

Ned: Not this tournament shit again. Can you just cut to the point of why you're bothering me this time?

Littlefinger: Why, I notice you've been snooping around the city. Asking questions. Inquiring. Mind to tell me what about?

Ned: You think I trust your ass? Hahaha, no.

Littlefinger: Well, I know anyway. You're asking about Jon Arryn's household. You believe they've all left the city and gone back to the Vale. But they haven't. Four remain. One who remains behind was his squire, Hugh. Right after Jon's death he was knighted. Peculiar, no?

Ned: SHIT... how do you know all this? I need to talk to these four people! Give me their info and I'll track them down.

Littlefinger: Oh, that would not be wise. This city is full of spies. Look out the window... those ones belong to the Queen. And over there... those ones belong to Varys. There are others I don't even know about.

Ned: I fucking hate this place.

Littlefinger: I have an alternative suggestion to you - while these spies can follow you all day, they certainly cannot follow every single one of your men.  I say find a loyal colleague to help you with these investigations.

Ned: Man, that's some good advice Littlefinger. Every Gil Grissom needs a Catherine Willows to assist him. You know, maybe I was wrong not to trust you.

Walter Donovan: Trust no one, Doctor Jones!

Ned: GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR FUCKING SWEET MILK, PYCELLE!   

AGoT 24: Bran IV

Bran is sitting in his room and looking out the window. He sees Rickon play with Shaggydog and thinks about how the direwolves are growing up.  He'll never be able to play with Summer though. That asshole crow was a liar.

Bran: Fucking lying crow. I can't fly. All I can do is just sit here, doing nothing.

Old Nan: Yes, all crows are liars. Let me tell you a story about a crow. There once was a crow from Nantucket...

Bran: GODDAMNIT, I hate your stories, you hag! Leave me alone!

Old Nan: They're not my stories. They are stories from days of long ago.

Bran: Whatever. You know what I mean. You old bitch. Hell, you were always old. I bet they called you Old Nan when you were teaching all those other Brans from back in the day. And you keep mixing us up.

Old Nan: Besides, you love these stories.

Bran: Yeah, I used to. Before I was crippled here and listening to you all day long. But now I just hate them.

Old Nan: Well, I know a story about a boy who hates stories. It goes like this, *ahem*... once there was--

Bran: --Ugh. I think even I'd hire an assassin to kill me now. Life sucks. Father promised to take me South with him. And that I'd get a horse. Do I get any of that now? No. And even the people who stayed behind ignore me. Robb spends all his time running the castle and being depressed. He's no fun.

Old Nan: Let me tell you a story about Bran the Builder. It's your favorite story.

Bran: NO IT'S NOT! STOP MIXING ME UP WITH OTHER BRANS!  The only stories I like are the scary ones.

Old Nan: Oh, the story about Bran the Builder is pretty scary.  You see, he built the wall to keep away the Others. Yes, thousands and thousands of years ago a winter fell like no other. It was the long winter and a night came that lasted an entire generation. And from that night came the Others - cold creatures who hated all things warm. The sun, fire, sweaters, cocoa, the outer corners of Hot Pockets, and mankind with its warm blood. They swarmed the towns of the first men and began to kill them all. Then, there came a brave warrior named the "Last Hero," to save the world from darkness.

Bran: Oh snap, this story is getting good. Tell me more! Is this dude Azor Ahai? I have got to know if this dude is Azor Ahai!

Old Nan: Patience dear Bran, I'm getting there. You see, the last hero set of with his sword, a dog, his horse, and twelve companions.  But one by one all of them were killed until the Others finally came upon him, surrounding him and--

Maester Luwin bursts in through the door.

Luwin: --Hey there, sorry to interrupt. You've got to come to the Great Hall. Tyrion Lannister just showed up.

Bran: WHAT?! FUCK THAT! We're just getting to the good part!

Luwin: No, you have to come. Don't be impolite. He comes with a message from your brother Jon.

Bran: Oh, well let me just walk on down there then. OH WAIT.

Old Nan: Come now, Bran. We can complete the story another time. Let's get Hodor to come take you.

Hodor shows up.

Hodor: Salutations, my dear friends. It is I, Hodor. I am here to ameliorate your current situation wherein your ambulatory conditions are severely limited your loss of autonomic function in parts of the body below the level of your spinal lesion.

Bran: Oh shit, I think we're re-interpreting Hodor in a crazy new direction here. I'm not sure I like this.

Hodor: Please, allow me the courtesy to be your chauffer from henceforth, dear Brandon.

Hodor picks up Bran and carries him down to the Great Hall. There, Robb is waiting and sitting in his father's chair But even Bran can tell Robb is doing a shit job at being courteous to Tyrion. He's sitting there with a sword in his lap.

Tyrion: Bitch, that's pretty rude. You're supposed to treat your guests with a little more respect than that.

Robb: Whatever, fuck you, Imp.

Tyrion: Oh, I see how it is, boy. What goes around comes around though. Maybe one day you'll be a guest in someone's house and they'll violate the courtesies that guests are supposed to get.

Robb: Pfft, whatever. Doubt it. That will never happen. And don't call me "boy." I'm a lord.

Tyrion: If you want to be treated like a lord then you have to act like one.

Robb: Whatevs. Just give Bran whatever stupid message it is you have from my half brother.

Hodor brings Bran forward and Robb helps sit him up in a high seat.

Tyrion: Ah, Bran. So great to see you alive and well. I'm glad the stories are true about your recovery.

Robb: Yeah, and you better remember that, Lannister.

Tyrion: How did you fall anyway?

Bran: Fall? The hell with that! I never fall.

Luwin: Tyrion, I am afraid that Bran doesn't really remember what happened.

Tyrion: Hrm, oddly convenient for plot purposes. So, do you like to ride?

Bran: Oh man, you're really fucking with me now, huh? That's a pretty messed up thing to say to a kid who will never be able to ride again.

Tyrion: Is that so? Well I promised Jon Snow at the Wall to give you a give that will make you happy. Now, CHECK THIS OUT!

Tyrion pulls out a complex schematic with some Leonardo Da Vinci next level engineering on it. Everyone gasps in amazement. It's of an amazing saddle that can support Bran and help him ride.

Luwin: HOLY SHIT! The fabled cripple saddle of legend! Since long before the Andals and the Rhoynar had come to Westeros... there were legends of such a magical machine. Where did you get this?

Tyrion: Uh, I just sort of drew it up when I was coming back from the Wall.

Luwin: Why it's genius! I'll start building it immediately!

Bran: Oh man, fuck that. Why is everyone calling me a cripple? I'm not a cripple!

Tyrion: Yeah, and I'm not a dwarf.

Robb: Hrm, I'm pretty suspicious of this. Why would you want to help Bran?

Tyrion: Uhhh... I dunno. Maybe it's because humans should try to be fucking nice to each other? Besides, it wasn't hard to come up with. It's sort of based on my own special saddle.

Rickon then arrives with the thee direwolves - Shaggydog, Grey Wind and Summer. They all start growling at Tyrion and then start to move towards him. 

Theon: I think they want to eat you, bro.

Tyrion: Oh shit, not again!

The Stark boys call their wolves back.

Robb: I apologize, Tyrion. Let us give you guest's honor for your kind gift. We'll find you a nice room here and--

Tyrion: --Look, no need for that shit. You don't want me here and I don't want to be here. Let's keep it real. There is an inn outside of Winterfell where I can stay. That will be fine.

Robb: Well, these Night's Watch men who escorted you down... I will ensure that they get rooms and a dinner.

Bran: Oh hell yeah, I'm really looking forward to this feast tonight! Now that I know I'll be able to ride a horse again, life is about to be the bee's knees!

Bran is carried back to bed after the meeting and dozes off for a bit before that night's big dinner. As he sleeps, he dreams of climbing. But then it all starts to get dark with scary gargoyles. He starts freaking out and screaming. He wakes up to find Hodor. 

Hodor: Calm yourself, Brandon. Please, consume some of this chamomile tea. You were having a nightmare. Named, obviously, after the Old English "mare", a mythological goblin who torments people with frightening dreams. Of course, these days we don't belief in such mischief, no sir! Freud theorized that our dreams are driven by unconscious wish fulfillment. Jung countered that the focus was more on desire. However, I tend to side with the assessment of  Fritz Perls and his Gestalt theory wherein our dreams are seen as projections of--

Bran: --This is going to get real old, real fast. Just take me down to dinner.

They go down to dinner and get with the friendly small talk with the Night's Watch.

Bran: Hey man, how are things up on the Wall? Must be pretty good, right?

Yoren: Oh wait... I forgot to say earlier your Uncle Benjen is almost definitely dead. Lost in the Haunted Forest.

Robb: No!!!! That can't be true! You're lying!

Yoren: Wow, you are really shitty at pretending to adult.

Bran: If Benjen is in the forest then the Children of the Forest will save him! Old Nan told me all about them.

Luwin: Now Bran, the Children have been dead for a long time.

Yoren: I dunno, there is some creepy shit up that way. Who can even tell these days?

Later that night, Robb carries Bran back up to his room.

Robb: Bran, I'll find you a horse and you'll be able to ride. Everything will soon be A-Ok!

Bran: Yeah, and then everyone will come back? Mom and dad and everyone?

Robb: Of course, we'll all be a happy family re-united again one day. For sure.