SEE HOW IT SHINES

xii, or: interludes beneath a full moon

According to the maesters of the Citadel, the seasons were once of an even length. In those times, autumn began in the latter third of the year, marked by many storms that broke the heat of summer. It is said that when the rains cleared, the earth was ready for the harvest, and winter could then begin on clean land. Although the seasons have long since stretched and can no longer be predicted with the same ease, the eighth moon of the year is still known as a storm moon to most of the realm, and is believed to precede a period of change and new beginnings.

Riverrun.

Kermit Tully hates family dinners. His father and great-grandsire are constantly at one another's throats, bickering like much younger boys, and since his mother died, there is no one left to mediate their spats. His sister tries her best to keep the two apart, but she's far too timid to earn any of the old man's respect—an impossible task, really, since Lord Grover Tully has no respect for women of any kind. His brother only makes matters worse with his constant chorus of "whys"; the boy means well, and cannot help his kind and curious spirit, but it only stokes the fire of contention between their father and the old man.

More often than not, Kermit feels like the only adult at the table.

Oscar and Missy entertain themselves while Grover and Elmo exchange harsh words, and Kermit sits alone at one end of the table, listlessly poking at his supper. Fish, again. He looks around the great hall: a simple but stately room, with timber rafters and a pale stone gallery overlooking the godswood. His great-grandsire insists they dine here together nightly, but on nights such as this one, with no one but their small family to sit in such a huge room, Kermit would rather be anywhere else. Outside, preferably, where a massive silver moon hangs over the heart tree and turns the river beyond it to liquid diamonds. He doesn't feel quite so alone when he's out of doors. He loves his family—well, Oscar and Missy, at least—but he doesn't always like them.

Especially Lord Grover. The old man bangs his fist on the table with surprising strength for a man who has been two days from meeting the Stranger for the past six years. "I have an announcement."

Kermit tries not to let his irritation show. Everything about his great-grandsire irritates him. The way he chews, the way he laughs, the way he fishes, the way he belittles his own grandson and heir every chance he gets. He's weak and indecisive—Father is, too, but not quite as useless—and with every passing year he clings to life, the Tully name grows smaller and less impressive. He'll lead their house to ruin with his mediocrity.

But he listens attentively all the same, now and always. What else is a good first-born son to do?

"I've had a letter from King's Landing." He produces a scroll from his pockets and holds it up for them to see. In the warm light of the dozens of candles suspended over the table, the red seal with its three-headed dragon seems to glow like fire itself. The children share a curious look, but their father's expression is blank, as though this is not new information for him. "The dragon king, Viserys, is hosting a great celebration to mark the thirty years of his reign. He's invited all the notable houses from every corner of the realm for seven days of feasting, hunting, and tourneys."

Kermit perks up instantly. A tourney! Gods, but all the great knights will be there: Bold Jon Roxton, Adrian Redfort, the Knight of Ninestars...perhaps even Corwyn Corbray with Lady Forlorn. He glances at his brother, whose dark eyes are bright with excitement. They've dreamt of meeting such famed warriors for their entire lives, of fighting alongside them and making their own legacies amongst their ranks. And now—

"That's not all," the old man continues. Oscar, who had nearly leapt out of his seat, slowly sinks back down. "This invitation also takes care to mention that all of the king's children, grandchildren, and nieces will be in attendance, and that seven of them are unmarried. That—" he coughs, wet and rattling, "is a wonderful coincidence."