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.

AGoT 23: Daenerys III

Dany is staring at the vast emptiness of the grasslands that are known as the "Dothraki Sea." She guesses it's kind of like a sea. Sort of. I dunno. She contemplates grass a lot. Way too much grass contemplating going on for anyone with normal mental health.

Dany: Oh wow, I really am far ahead of everyone else. My brother is all the way back there, being slow. I don't even know why he came along for this ride. Oh right, because he doesn't trust Drogo to give him that army he wants. Punk ass. I guess I should wait for them all.

Jorah Mormont: As you command, by queen.

Dany: Queen? That's Khaleesi to you!

Jorah: Sure, I could get used to that.

She uses this time waiting to think extensively about how she used to have sores all over her body when she started riding. She was scared and depressed and in pain and wanted to kill herself and shit. Drogo would come to her at night and take her from behind. Dark stuff.

But then it all started to get better one night when she had this strange dream...

Shaq: What you need is icy to dull the pain, and hot to relax it away.

Dany: Holy crap, 15× NBA All-Star Shaquille O'Neal! What are you doing here? 

Shaq: Hot to relax it away. 

Dany: Huh? Didn't you already say that?

Shaq: HOT TO RELAX IT AWAY! HOT TO RELAX IT AWAY! HOT!

Dream Shaq suddenly transforms into a dragon and breaths scalding hot fire on her. 

Dany: AGHH!!!!

Yet Dream Shaq was correct. The hot did relax it away. And after that dream of the dragon cleansing her with flame - she's felt better every day. 

Dany: Ah man, just relaxing here and waiting, thinking about my dreams and grass.

But what she doesn't notice is how long she's been daydreaming. Finally her stupid brother had cauht up, and he is not happy. 

Viserys: How DARE you speed ahead of the Dragon and tell him to stay back on a ridge! The Dragon don't play that way! You have woke the Dragon!

Viserys takes a swing at her, but she swings back. All the riders of the Khalasar look at Viserys like he's lost his damn mind. One of the four main riders assigned from the Khal to Dany, Jhogo, pulls out his whip and whips Viserys in his stupid ass neck, pulling him to the ground.

Viserys: *cries like baby*

Jhogo: [in Dothraki] Uh, so you want me to kill this little shit?

Irri: I can translate for you, Khaleesi. Jhogo asks if we should kill this little shit.

Dany: Oh wow - you're translating for me? I thought you were supposed to be my riding instructor while Jhiqui was the translator or whatever.

Irri: Well, you can already ride so that pretty much made that role redundant. So now I'll do the translating thing.

Dany: But doesn't that just make Jhiqui the redundant one?

Irri shrugs. 

Dany: Anyway, tell Jhogo no, not to kill my shithead brother. But take his horse away and make him walk the rest of the way back.

Irri: OH SHIT! Take his horse away and make him walk? That's like the ultimate Dothraki diss! That's worse than killing him. You're a stone cold bitch, Dany.

Dany: Yes, cold. But also hot.

Viserys: WHAT?! The Dragon will not be treated this way! Jorah, kill these insolent little shits!

Jorah: Nah, I'm on team Dany now. Your ass should walk.

Viserys: Nooooooo! You serve me, the Dragon!

Jorah: Not any more.

He rides up next to Dany and they leave Viserys in the dust. 

Dany: Wow, I can't believe I fought back. That's the first time I've ever done that. Do you think I woke the Dragon?

Jorah: Please, that bitch ain't no dragon. Maybe, like, the shadow of a snake or something. Not even a cool venomous snake. More like a shitty little milk snake. Your brother Rhaegar was the last of the dragons.

Dany: What? How can you say such a thing? Viserys is the rightful heir to the throne.

Jorah: Whatever. Would you really want that little punk to be king?

Dany: He says the people of Westeros pray for his return. They secretly sew Dragon flags and yearn for him to cross the narrow sea.

Jorah: Hahaha, I hope you don't believe that bullshit. You seem too smart for that. The common people pray for rain, healthy children, a summer that never ends, and the return of the McRib. It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as th--"

--Alarms start flashing and horns sound. Chairry, Magic Screen, Pterri, Mr. Window, Clockey, Conky 2000 and all the others start shouting wildly and flailing their arms/wings/seat cushions/whatever they have around. The text "Game of Thrones" flashes again and again.

Dany: What the hell?

Cowboy Curtis: You just said the Secret Word!

Pee-Wee: HEH-HEH!!

And as quickly as they all appeared, they all vanish right back into the tall grass of the Dothraki Sea.

Dany: Creepy.

Jorah: Anyway, what I was trying to say is the people don't actually care.

Dany: You're right. Viserys could never rule. I know that. I think I've known for a long time. He couldn't lead an army. He couldn't lead ants to a picnic.

Dany races ahead to the camp for the night with her handmaids. She can't wait until Viserys stumbles in later all emasculated.  In her tent that night, probably as she's getting ready for another scalding hot bath, she fondles her dragon eggs and thinks they feel kind of hot.

Dany: I wonder if any dragons are out there alive.

Irri: No, they are all dead. Killed by men. It is known.

Jhiqui: It is known.

Dany: Wow, so you're just going to repeat her, huh? I guess you really are redundant.

Doreah: Oh yeah? Well I heard that dragons come from the moon. There used to be two moons, but one broke open and it was really a dragon egg and a bunch of dragons came out. Maybe one day the other moon will crack open and we'll have more dragons.

Irri: No, the moon is not a fucking egg, despite what that worst episode ever of Doctor Who said. It is known. 

Jhiqui: It is known

Dany: Okay girls, get out of here now. Not you, Doreah. I want to... "have dinner" with you.

Irri: Hey! Why don't we get to have dinner with you too? Aren't we buds?

Dany: No, it's a euphemism. She's the one who is supposed to teach me how to be a better lover, remember? We're gonna... you know...

Irri: Ah, I get it now.

Jhiqui: It is known

Dany: Jesus... you are just totally useless, Jhiqui, aren't you?

That night, Khal Drogo wants it the usual way. Doggy-style.

Dany: Nah, Doreah taught me this new shit. Check this out. It's something called "cowgirl."

Anyway, I guess we'll skip anything more descriptive than that because it's gross, since she's thirteen. 

Dany: No! I'm fourteen now! It's my birthday.

Oh, right. Because that's sooooo much better.

Dany's OBGYN: Also, you're pregnant.

Dany: WHAT?!

AGoT 22: Arya II

Arya is eating some bullshit dinner in the Small Hall (which is ironically quite large) with all these bullshit members of the Stark party that came down to Winterfell and her bullshit sister. Jeyne Poole is even there. Yeah. Arya hates them all and just wants to run around and stab things. Especially Joffrey. Fuck that guy. 

Finally, her dad Ned arrives. 

Ned: Ugh, what a long day with that goddamn King's Small Council. That thing is the worst.

Jory Cassel: Hey Ned! Sorry we started dinner without you. We were hungry as hell. Hey man, are you psyched about this awesome Hand's Tournament that's being planned in your honor? Everyone is talking about it!

Ned: Shit Jory, you had to bring up that shit? And why is everyone calling it the Hand's Tournament? I'm the Hand and I don't even want that shit. Maybe people should start talking about that.

Sansa: Oh! A tournament! It sounds like so much fun. Can I go daddy, can I?

Ned: Fuck no. That's some violent bullshit that my children do not need to see. And by that I mean my girl children, since I was totally okay with Bran watching a beheading in Chapter 1.

Septa Mordane: Ned, the tournament will be held in your honor. It would be quite odd if your family was not there. Sansa and Arya are old enough to view it.

Ned: Ugh, fine.

Arya: I don't want to go to a stupid tournament. Joffrey will be there and I fucking hate him.

Sansa: Good. They probably don't want you at the tournament anyway. It will be better without you.

Ned stands up and starts shouting at his insolent little children. 

Ned: I swear to the old gods, if you two little shits don't calm the fuck down and get along, I will sell you both to Tyroshi slavers myself. Or just slice your damn heads off with Ice.

Ned takes a breath and regains his composure. 

Ned: You know what? I seem to not even have an appetite. I think I'll excuse myself for the evening.

He leaves. Everyone goes back to talking about the tournament, which Arya thinks is bullshit. All these people talk about being honorable and knightly. Arya used to believe them. But what did any of them do when Joffrey wanted to have Nymeria killed or when the Hound killed Mycah? What did anyone do when Lady was killed? Not a damn thing.  Arya looks at her cold food and pushes it away.

Arya: I'm out too. Peace, bitches.

She rolls out. 

Septa Mordane: Arya! You didn't touch your food! You get back here right now!

Arya just flips her the bird and runs. 

Arya reaches her room and slams the door behind her, latching it shut. She hates everything about Kings Landing and her new place at the Red Keep - except for this awesome-ass latch on the door. Nobody can get through that latch. It's the best. 

One of the guards knocks and knocks at the door. 

Guard: Arya! Open this door now! Are you in there?

Arya: Uhh... no?

Guard: Oh, okay then.

The guard leaves. 

Arya goes to her chest and digs through it, finally pulling out Needle. 

Arya: Yeah, I'm going to fuck some people up with this shit. If only I could climb like Bran, I could escape from here and steal food and live on my own. Just me travelling around and having zany adventures on the road. Maybe making friends and getting up to hi-jinx. This sounds like an excellent way to spend the next couple of books. I wish my brother Jon was with me though. He'd be a cool travel buddy.

There is another knock at the door. 

Ned: Arya? Arya? Come on now. Open up.

Arya hears from his voice that he's not angry. He's just sad. She goes to open the door.

Ned: Arya, what am I going to do with you?  Sometimes I feel like---WHOA, what the hell is that in your hand?

Arya realizes that she was a total dumbass and still had Needle in her hand when she opened the door. She was so excited swinging it around that she forgot she even had it. 

Arya: Uhh... nothing?

Ned: Who did you steal that from?

Arya: No one! (ha) It's mine!

Ned grabs it and inspects it closer. 

Ned: Hrmmm, clearly the work of Mikken. A very fine blade. Just how in the hell am I having swords made in my own forge and don't even know about it? For my own daughter!

He sits down, exacerbated.

Ned: Who gave you this sword? Tell me now!

Arya: Snitches get stitches. That's the Winterfell way. Straight hood.

Ned: Good, that was a test and you passed. But you know this isn't a play thing, right? I should break this sword over my damn knee.

Arya: I know it's not a play thing. I wasn't playing. I'm training.  And Needle won't break. The sword is hella strong.

Ned: Hahahaha, Needle? So the sword has a name? You know... you remind me of my sister Lyanna more and more. She would have had a sword if father let her. You act just like her. You even look like her.

Arya: Whaaaaat? But everyone said Lyanna was beautiful.

Ned: Yeah, she was. So I hope that helps you with your self-confidence issues. But would you even know what to do with this sword?

Arya: Uhhh... stick 'em with the pointy end?

Ned: Hrm, okay. I guess you do know what to do.

Arya then starts sobbing. 

Arya: I made Mycah play with me! I wanted to train! It's my fault he's dead!

She falls into her father's arm, crying even harder. 

Ned: No, it's not your fault.

Arya: I hate them, daddy! I hate them all! I hate the Queen, I hate the Hound, I hate Joffrey, and I hate the King! Joffrey lied! And Sansa lied too! She knew what happened.

Ned: Yes, we all lie. But sometimes lying can be good. Like how you lied about Nymeria running away.

Arya looks up as if she had been caught red-handed. 

Arya: What? Did that punk ass Jory sell me out?

Ned: Please, he didn't need to.  I know Nymeria would never run away on her own. She loves you too much. You obviously had to do something to protect her from the Queen. To make her leave.  I know how much that must have hurt you.

Arya: I had to throw rocks at her. She still kept coming back though. It was so hard. I miss Nymeria so much!

Ned: Right, and you lied and said she ran away. To protect her. You did the right thing. Winter is coming, Arya. We need to stick together. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

Arya: That's some deep shit. I think I'll remember that and bring it up again in Season 7 of the TV show.

Ned: What I mean is we Starks need to stick together. You can't stay angry at your sister. We have so many real enemies down here - we can't become enemies with each other. So pretty please with sugar on top, don't stab Sansa.

Arya: I'll... try not to.

Three days later... Arya is hanging out in her room.

Vayon Poole: Oh hey Arya, you need to go to the Small Hall for some vague reason I won't explain.

Arya: Sure. Whatever.

She goes.  When she gets there, instead of finding all the rest of the Stark party she finds that all the dinner tables have been pushed to the side and it's wide open. There is only one other person there - some bald guy.  Or you can imagine that he has an epic afro like in the TV show, whatever works for you. 

Syrio Forel: Whattup girl? I'm your "dance instructor."

Arya: Ugh, I don't want to learn to dance. That's some bullshit Sansa stuff.

Syrio: No, did you not see those dangling quotes around the words "dance instructor?" It's a euphemism. I used to be the First Sword of Braavos. The finest swordsman and protector of the Sealord. Your dad sent me here to teach you how to sword fight.

Arya: OH SHIT! My dad is the best ever.

Syrio throws a wooden sword at her. She misses it. She goes to pick it up. It's heavy. 

Arya: Ugh. This is heavy.

See? 

Syrio: I will train you. And tomorrow you will catch it! Now fix your grip, boy! Not so tight.

Arya: But what if I drop it?

Syrio: The sword must become like it is part of your arm. How could you drop your own arm?

Arya: I dunno. Industrial accident or something?

Syrio: Don't sass me, boy.

Arya: Why do you keep calling me boy? I'm a girl!

Syrio: What does it matter? You are a sword! A sword doesn't have a gender!

Arya: Oh, just like how dragons don't have gender in high Valyrian?

Syrio: That's knowledge you're not supposed to know anything about as a nine year old girl.  Besides, you're getting several books ahead of the story now. That's some A Feast for Crows shit there. Let's have other characters like Aemon get to that at a much later point.  Now let us fight! And by that I am not referring to that hack and slash shit that you people do here in Westeros. I'm going to teach you the awesome fighting skills of Braavos... the Water Dance!

Arya: Okay, so now that whole "dancing instructor" thing makes more sense. All I needed was some additional context.

Syrio: Oh, I will beat your ass sore these next couple of weeks, boy.

AGoT 21: Tyrion III

Tyrion is at a feast in the Lord Commander's chamber, yukking it up while drinking wine and eating crabs.

Mormont: Oh man, Tyrion. Do you have to go tomorrow? You're hilarious. We could use men like you up on the Wall!

Tyrion: Oh, you need men like me? Well then I'll make sure to tell all the imps of the Seven Kingdoms to come here.

They all laugh and eat more crab. I know that joke didn't sound all that hilarious but you just had to be there, man. You're coming in all "in media res."  You're missing context.  One person who is not laughing though is fucking Alliser Thorne. 

Thorne: This Imp mocks us and he mocks the Night's Watch.

Tyrion: Oh come now, everyone needs a little mocking. And how did you get your name? Was it based on the giant thorn up your ass?

Everyone else cracks up. 

Thorne: Fuck that, you wanna fight or something? I can fight you!

Tyrion: Yes, let's!

Tyrion pulls out his tiny little crab fork for pulling meat out of claws and pokes Allister with it. The whole room laughs again as Throne walks away, fuming. 

Tyrion: Dibs on his crab! To the victor go the spoils!

Mormont: Oh man, that was some hilarious shit there.

Tyrion: Speaking of shit, Thorne should be cleaning the stables rather than being the man-at-arms. Serious, fuck that dude.

Mormont: Plenty of people can clean up shit. Thorne is one of the few actual knights we have here. Quite frankly, our ranks suck these days.

Jaremy Rykker: Aye, Thorne and I fought for the Mad King back in the day. Then your father Tywin marched into town and gave us the option of taking up the black or dying.

Tyrion: Yeah, sorry. My dad is quite a dick.  Some more wine, please!

Bowen Marsh: You've got quite the appetite for such a small man, Tyrion.

Maester Aemon: Oh, I think he's actually quite a giant among us.

Everyone suddenly goes quiet. Aemon is the wise, old Maester of Castle Black and everyone listens to what he has to say. He's over 100, bald, and totally blind.

Jaremy: Uh, Aemon. You're blind so I just want to tell you that he's actually quite tiny.

Mormont smacks Jaremy in the head. 

Mormont: He's speaking metaphorically!

Tyrion: Well, thank you good Maester. I think that's the first time anyone has ever called me a giant. You're quite kind.

Aemon: And that's the first time anyone has ever called me kind!

Everyone laughs again. See? Even the old guy is in on this. Fun times!

Mormont:  But seriously, Tyrion. We need you to put in a good word with the King and your father. We're dying up here. The Night's Watch is running out of men. We need them to send us men! Barely anyone here can read. Barely anyone can think or lead. We've all got a bunch of dumbasses here. Present company excluded, of course.

Tyrion: I'll... do what I can.

Tyrion will, but he sort of immediately knew once he got back everyone would laugh in his face.

Mormont: It will be Winter soon. Winter is Coming! You don't know how bad it will be then.

Tyrion: Oh man, on that depressing note, I think it's time to call it a night.

Mormont: Well, like I said. We're going to miss you! On your way back to Winterfell, we'll make sure to give you an escort.

Tyrion: Ah, will it include Jon Snow? I'm sure he'd love to see his family again.

Mormont: No. He's got to put his family aside. We brothers of the Watch are his only family now. It's best to leave that all behind. You think I don't want to help my family out? I mean it's all gone to shit for the Mormonts of Bear Island since my son, Jorah, had to flee the country.

Tyrion accepts it for what it is, and eventually takes leave of the Commander's room. But instead of going to bed, he walks to the giant elevator that takes people up to the top of the Wall. He wants to see it all one last time. Because why not? 

He yanks the little chain indicating he wants to go up. The ride is slow. He sees the Lord Commander's tower. Soon after, he sees the distant lights of the nearby Mole's Town. Beyond that there is very little but darkness.  Eventually, he reaches the top.

Wall Guard: Oh hey look! The Imp made a super smart decision to come to the top of a 700-foot tall, ice-covered wall while he's completely drunk.

Tyrion: Yes, I always make good decisions.

Tyrion walks along in the cold until he comes upon a brother watching the wall... a brother with his pet direwolf. 

Jon Snow: Oh shit, Tyrion man. Whattup? Wasn't sure I'd see you again.

Tyrion: Well, of course I had to say goodbye. So how is your training with the men going?

Jon: They're getting better. Even Pyp.

Tyrion: Who the fuck is Pyp? One of the guys who was fighting with you before that didn't have a name in an earlier chapter?

Jon: Retroactively, let's just say yes. One of those was Pyp.

Tyrion: Hey, is there any message I can bring back to Winterfell for you? I'll be stopping there on the way down.

Jon: Oh shit, yeah. Tell Robb he needs to send me a box of Kit Kat bars. Or two boxes maybe. Tell Rickon he can have all my shit but don't let him have the porno mags until he's older. Tell Septon Chayle I'm sorry about those library books I lost. Tell Theon that I still fucking hate him. Tell Jeyne Poole that no I don't want to date her because she looks too much like my sister, Arya. Tell Hullen that all those practical jokes with the horses was me.  No wait. Jeyne Poole and Hullen went down to King's Landing with father now that I think about it so they wouldn't be in Winterfell anymore. So instead of doing that, maybe you should tell--

Tyrion: --Uhm, maybe just keep the requests down to like one or two people. I didn't bring a notepad up here with me.

Jon: Just tell Bran, you know, whatever. Find a way to make him feel better like you made me feel better. You always pull out that deep shit. You're such a bro, man.

Jon takes off his glove and reaches out his hand. Tyrion responds and does the same. They shake. Then they instantly put the gloves back on because it's really fucking cold.

They stare off beyond the Wall into the darkness where wolves howl.

Jon: Oh man, I wish Benjen would come back. If he doesn't... I might have to go out and find him.

Tyrion: Then who will go out and find you?

Jon: What?

Tyrion: Oh, sorry. Did I say that aloud? I thought I was internalizing.