Game of Thrones Page #9

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43.

NED (cont'd)

I belong here, not down south in

that rats’ nest they call a

capital.

CATELYN:

He would make our daughter Queen.

Ned turns away, facing the darkness again. She softens and is

about to go to him when a loud knock comes at the door.

NED:

I gave orders not to be disturbed.

From the other side of the door, a SENTRY answers.

SENTRY (O.S.)

It’s Maester Luwin calling, my

lord. He insists.

Ned slips on a heavy robe.

NED:

Send him in.

The door opens and Maester Luwin enters. He waits until the

door is shut behind him before speaking.

MAESTER LUWIN:

My lord, pardon for disturbing your

rest. I have been left a message.

NED:

Been left? By whom?

MAESTER LUWIN:

There was no messenger, my lord.

Only a carved wooden box, left on a

table in my observatory while I

slept. This was concealed in a

false bottom.

Maester Luwin draws a tightly rolled paper from his loose

sleeves. Ned holds out his hand.

NED:

Let me have it, then.

MAESTER LUWIN:

A thousand pardons, my lord. The

message is marked for the eyes of

the Lady Catelyn alone.

Ned isn’t used to being denied by anyone below the rank of

king.

44.

He considers the old man for a second and steps aside,

allowing Maester Luwin to place the paper on the bedside

table. Luwin bows and begins to retreat.

NED:

Stay.

Catelyn looks at the blue wax moon-and-falcon seal on the

paper with foreboding.

CATELYN:

It’s from my sister. Something’s

wrong. Why would she hide the

letter? They said she left the

capital right after he died...

NED:

Open it.

Catelyn breaks the seal. Her eyes move over the words. For a

moment, she is confused--then a smile flits across her lips.

CATELYN:

She took no chances. When we were

girls, we had a private language.

NED:

Can you still read it?

CATELYN:

Yes...

Her smile disappears as she reads.

Catelyn wraps herself in one of the bed furs and pads toward

the hearth. She tosses the paper in the fire and watches to

make sure it burns through.

CATELYN:

She says Jon Arryn was murdered.

(beat)

By the Lannisters. By the Queen.

The accusation shocks Ned. He tries to rationalize it away:

NED:

Your sister is sick with grief. She

doesn’t know what she’s saying.

CATELYN:

Lysa isn’t easy, but she’s never

been a fool.

45.

NED:

This is madness...

CATELYN:

You say you love Robert like a

brother. Would you leave your

brother surrounded by Lannisters?

Ned looks to Maester Luwin, hoping for a different opinion.

MAESTER LUWIN:

The Hand of the King has great

power, my lord. Power to

investigate. And to punish, if need

be.

CATELYN:

You must go south with him. Become

his Hand and learn the truth.

NED:

I am not your dog to command, my

lady.

But Ned’s words are belied by the resignation in his face.

She is right and he knows it. He sits heavily in a chair

beside the hearth.

NED:

My father went south once, to

answer the summons of a king. He

never came home again.

MAESTER LUWIN:

A different time. A different king.

Ned says nothing, watching the flames devour the wood.

INT. WINTERFELL - TOWER ROOM - DAY

Sansa and Princess Myrcella both knit, overseen by Myrcella’s

ladies-in-waiting, and Sansa’s tutor, SEPTA MORDANE (60s).

Arya sits near the door. Her needlework is as grim as Sansa’s

is perfect, her face as plain as Sansa’s is beautiful.

She doesn’t want to be here. While the Septa fawns over the

princess, Arya quietly lays down her knitting and sneaks away.

46.

EXT. WINTERFELL - COURTYARD - DAY

Bran and Prince Tommen drill in the yard with padded wooden

swords. The children are so heavily padded themselves that

they look like they’ve been wrapped in featherbeds.

Huffing and puffing, they thump each other under the watchful

eye of SER RODRIK CASSEL (60), the master-at-arms, a stout

keg of a man with thick white sideburns.

A dozen (male) spectators call out encouragements, Robb the

loudest among them. Theon Greyjoy watches with his

characteristic wry contempt.

Twenty yards from the others, Jon Snow watches as well,

seated alone on a rough wooden bench. Absorbed in the action,

he is unaware of Arya’s approach until she jumps on his back.

JON:

Shouldn’t you be working on your

stitches?

Arya makes a face at him.

ARYA:

I wanted to see them fight. Why

aren’t you with them?

JON:

Bastards aren’t allowed to damage

young princes.

Arya watches her little brother Bran whack at Tommen, almost

toppling over himself in the process.

ARYA:

I could do better than Bran. I’d

knock the prince’s fat head off.

Jon looks at her with mock shock. Then he takes her arm and

examines it, feeling her muscle. He shakes his head.

JON:

Too skinny.

She snatches back her arm and glares at him. He messes up her

hair. A cheer goes up from the drilling field.

Bran has managed to knock Tommen over; the prince is rolling

in the dust, trying to get up and failing, like a padded

turtle. Bran stands at the ready with upraised wooden sword,

ready to whack him again once he regains his feet.

47.

The spectators laugh until Ser Rodrik ends it. He yanks the

prince to his feet.

SER RODRIK:

Well fought. Prince Joffrey, Robb,

will you go another round?

ROBB:

Gladly.

Joffrey, however, looks bored; he remains among his men.

JOFFREY:

This is a child’s game.

THEON:

That’s because you’re children.

JOFFREY:

Robb may be a child. I am a prince.

And I’m tired of swatting at Starks

with a play sword.

ROBB:

You got more swats than you gave.

Afraid?

JOFFREY:

Oh, terrified. I might get a

splinter.

The Lannister men all laugh.

Jon and Arya watch with contempt.

JON:

What a sh*t.

Ser Rodrik asks Joffrey:

SER RODRIK:

What do you suggest?

JOFFREY:

Live steel.

ROBB:

Done.

Ser Rodrik puts a hand on Robb’s shoulder.

48.

SER RODRIK:

Too dangerous. I’ll let you go with

tourney swords with blunted edges.

A muscled knight with black hair and terrible burn scars on

his face pushes forward: Sandor “The Hound” Clegane,

Joffrey’s bodyguard.

THE HOUND:

This is your prince. Who are you to

tell him he can’t have an edge on

his sword?

(to Robb)

How old are you, boy?

ROBB:

Sixteen.

THE HOUND:

I killed a man at twelve. And not

with a blunt sword.

Arya watches with worry as Robb bristles, his pride wounded.

ROBB:

(to Ser Rodrik)

Let me do it. I can beat him.

SER RODRIK:

Beat him with a tourney blade,

then.

Joffrey shrugs and starts to turn away.

JOFFREY:

Come and see me, north boy, once

your balls thaw.

Laughter from the Lannister men. Robb loses his temper.

ROBB:

I’ll cut yours off, you little piss-

haired

Arya’s and Jon’s eyes widen in surprise.

But Theon seizes Robb’s arm to keep him away from the prince.

Joffrey feigns a yawn and turns to his younger brother.

JOFFREY:

Come, Tommen. Playtime is over.

Leave the children to their games.

49.

More laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb.

Theon continues to hold Robb back, now aided by Ser Rodrik,

until the Lannister party is safely away.

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