So! Chapter eight... In which plotlines are not continued as such, but in which backstories and background information are established and clarified. Hope you guys enjoy!
Oh, and thanks again to all reviewers, followers, etc., hell, even viewers! I appreciate it all a lot!
"Firstly, Kennet... I'm sorry. This tale starts a long time ago, with our ancestors... What they had gained, I had lost, and in the doing so cost both yourself and myself dearly."
Kennet's mouth opened to question, but Tristan held up his hand, looking up into the eyes of his son.
"You shall have your answers, be they in the tale or afterward. Patience."
Whatever this is, you have hidden it from me for the twenty-two years of my life so far. "I can wait," Kennet stated
Tristan nodded, and went on. "The family was respected in the area for over a thousand five hundred years, winning little honour or glory, but surviving well. We had a keep, would it be believed, and a few nearby smallfolk; we were a small lordship, sworn to the House of Umber, and similarly close to the Wall."
Ser Mandon leant back and considered the words, Kennet listened intensely, and Lady Lynessa had her head bowed, as if mourning.
"The House survived the invasion of the Targaryens. The House survived many wars of Northern Lords and houses. Rumours had it that we'd married into the Greystark line sometime before the exile of that house, or they into us. The House survived the visit of a Queen and a Dragon, and we renamed our Keep accordingly. Queenscrown, it was. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
"In passing, no more," Kennet said, wonderment in his tone and sadness in his bearing.
"It was nothing too special, besides the invisible crossing to the moat and the gold paint at the top. But it's house had fought and lived for so long, as had it's people, against Boltons, Greystarks, Skaagosi, and we had men behind Torrhen Stark when he met the dragons and knelt. But what brought us down after all that? What did I let beat us? Wildlings." The shame and regret was written all over Tristan's face.
"I was the last Lord of Queenscrown. My father had died when I was but sixteen. He had been hunting, and a group of Wildlings ambushed him. Thankfully, well... I'll get to that later.
"I had very few years in charge. Four, in total, and by the end Queenscrown was ramshackle. We had been subject to increasing raids as more and more people fled the Gift and the Wildlings pillaged further South for close to fifty years. Finances were bad, morale was worse, and so were the harvests. There was a winter, short but harsh. Wildlings, evidently fleeing their own colds, continued raiding. The nearby smallfolk kept leaving, and I knew I was Lord of little more than my own body.
"I took the cart and the horses, in which I put the family treasures and some expensive furnishings, and I gave money to my faithful friends and servants, and I told the people I and they must leave. They, mostly, heeded my words."
Tristan's head was bowed. Lady Lynessa clasped his shoulder.
"I headed for Karhold. There, I sold many of the furnishings and valuables, and the horse and cart, though I kept some that were closest to my heart and to the House's history, which I shall come back to later.
"With the money, I purchased a small merchant ship fresh from the shipyard. I also brought goods and hired crew, and prayed for more success as a merchant than I had as a Lord. The gods did not disappoint me."
Tristan smiled thinly. "The first few trips, selling furs to men of White Harbour for large profit, worked well, as the winter was cold even down there. I was able to buy a house near Karhold. I had money for supplies, and I was beginning to associate with merchants and receive better deals. It was around that time that I first came to Widow's Watch. I was twenty-two."
Lady Lynessa remarked, "He was young, and handsome, and had a sorrowful tale to tell, but he was making something of himself despite it. He was offered by myself the hospitality and friendship of Widow's Watch."
"Which I accepted," stated Tristan. "And I put into her trust some of the heirlooms of the House. Ships can sink, I said, but history we should never lose."
"Much to the displeasure of my Lord Father," Lady Lynessa continued, "he remained here, allowing Phillep to take the ship to trade elsewhere. We grew close, but Lord Arnet Flint decided it was past the time I should be married, his second daughter; though my older sister, Sybella, had married just that month.
"The chosen suitor was a Tallhart, but almost five-and-thirty. Before he arrived at Widow's Watch, however, he sustained an injury to his leg, and his Maester diagnosed he not partake in any strenuous or stressful activity until he deemed it healed." Lady Lynessa sighed.
"However, it was not to be as my father expected even then, for, in a moment of weakness, fear, and shared and remembered and anticipated pain, I lost my maidenhead, Kennet, to your father," stated Lady Lynessa.
"It was a year before Haldhan Tallhart recovered again. During that time, I had it put about that I had always enjoyed horse-riding, so as to explain the loss of my maidenhead, and that I was ill, so as to explain why I was not leaving the tower, and why meals were only delivered to me."
Lynessa Flint looked deep into Kennet's eyes, searching for a realisation. Kennet could guess what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it.
"I did not leave the tower, Kennet, because I was pregnant. With your father's child. With you."
There was silence in the tower. Kennet stared into Lady Flint's eyes, then glanced around them, analysing her features. She had his nose, and his brow, though the set of her cheekbones were different; his were akin to his father's, but gentler. She and Tristan both had dark hair, as did Kennet.
She and Kennet both were taller than Tristan, but Kennet had his father's build more.
The similarities were evident.
Kennet nodded, acknowledging one of the truths that had been hidden to him. He leant forwards, elbows on knees and chin resting on his hands as he looked down, waiting for them to go on, guessing there was more to the story.
"I took you back to Karhold, had you fed, and raised you," Tristan explained. "I trained you, I educated you; I taught you what I had learnt in life. And, often, I returned to Widow's Watch, and to your mother."
"I concealed the marks of my pregnancy using a dye for my skin, which your father had procured, and which he supplied me with regularly, until the second time I became pregnant, now by my husband.
"We lived here, as my mother had informed my father that she could bear children no more, and my sister Sybella had died in childbirth along with her child. I was to be the Lady of Widow's Watch, while my husband and our children were to inherit.
"However, sixteen years ago there was the Rebellion. My father led the Flint troops south, and left myself and Haldhan to hold Widow's Watch. He died at the Trident, and, some months later, my mother also passed."
All this family I have never known, yet they are of my blood, or, rather, I am of theirs.
"Haldhan, my husband, was a fool. I ran the castle myself, and he simply led men to their deaths and his in the next chance he had, the Greyjoy rebellion. I have been the Lady of Widow's Watch since, and my son, Robin, has now gone the way of his father and grandfather. Dead in a war."
"I rode under Robin Flint, in the rearguard, on the journey to the Twins," stated Kennet. "He was a good man."
"He was a young man, younger than even you," Lynessa told him. "Twenty is too young for a man to die. The Freys have robbed me a son."
"The Freys have robbed us all," Ser Mandon stated. "White Harbour grieves Ser Wendel equally, I can assure you, and King Robb just as much."
"Naturally," Lynessa agreed.
"Kennet," Tristan asked, "you mentioned you journeyed to the Twins?" The unspoken "how did you survive?" was clearly present in the emphasis on the second you.
"Aye," Kennet said, "and escaped with both my life and something far more important." Kennet dug from a bag at his side the Royal Decree. "I was guarding the Young Wolf's tent when the Frey slaughter first began," he explained.
He laid it on the table before them, his parents, becoming suddenly self-conscious.
The silence whilst they read it was deafening. Kennet looked down at his hands, clasped at his knees, and glanced up to Mandon, who shrugged helplessly.
"Kennet," Tristan said quietly, "you travelled here by ship, did you not?"
Kennet looked up. Lynessa Flint, his mother, was scanning the names at the bottom of the page. His father was looking him in the eyes.
Kennet nodded. "The Stone Maiden."
"Where did you find her?"
"White Harbour." Kennet looked to Mandon. "The Manderlys, once Patrek Stonefrost had arranged a meeting through Willhem Mallann, were extremely generous and helpful. Lord Wyman, along with myself and other members of his household," again, Kennet glanced conspicuously at Mandon, "helped in the formulation of, and execution of the first steps of, a plan."
"Am I to take it that yourself and Ser Mandon would be a part of this plan?" Lady Lynessa asked.
"Indeed we are," said Ser Mandon. "We head for the wall and for our King."
"We shall persuade him," Kennet continued, "by presenting him with this Royal Decree, and the responses that the plan receives from around the North, hopefully successes in driving the Ironborn from the south-western shoreline and from the Wolfswood, as well as potentially staging a takeover and repair of Moat Cailin." As he spoke, Kennet glanced from one face to the other, gauging their reactions.
His father was nodding along as they talked on strategy and tactics, but Kennet found it trickier to decipher Lynessa Flint's expression.
Her eyes were wide, head tilted; a bittersweet smile was spreading across her face.
She turned to Tristan, who looked at her and immediately embraced her. Her voice was emotional, almost tearful yet not quite, rather, regretful. "Our son's grown up so much without me," Kennet heard, and he blushed, staring downwards again.
When he looked up again, they'd separated, and Lynessa was wiping the corner of her eye lightly. "Apologies," she laughed lightly. "You must think me a fool."
"I would wager good coin that many in your position would have a similar reaction," Kennet told her, "and many more worse."
She smiled, and almost giggled, saying to Tristan, "He has your charms!"
Kennet scowled almost childishly, knowing his cheeks were reddening. He sent Mandon a glance, almost a plea for help, and the man from White Harbour was merciful.
"Excuse me, Tristan," Ser Mandon commented, "but during your story, I believe you mentioned some things to be told at the end. Might I enquire after them?"
Tristan nodded, and Kennet mouthed thanks to Mandon. "Yes, there were some things I left out, such as the identity of the House heirlooms which I left at Widow's Watch, and the banner of our House. Although, Kennet, were you to glance down at your left arm, the sigil you would see is it. A Shadowcat, black and white, on grey. Legend has it that one of our ancestors, Lord Bryndon, tamed one and took it as the sigil of the House."
Kennet stared at the token on his arm, shocked at the coincidence that Wynafryd had been reminded of that banner, of his father's, over any other of thousands in the world.
"Where did you get that, by the way?" Tristan questioned, a puzzled tone to his voice.
"It was a gift, a token, from no less than the Lady Wynafryd Manderly. We had worked with Lord Manderly on the tactics of the coming months, and she heard Ser Mandon make a comment on how I fought "like a cat" while we sparred in the yard. Before I left the next day, she arrived at the harbour with it, and with Ser Mandon."
"Had she found it in a book somewhere?" Tristan queried.
"She said she had, and that she remembered it that night," Kennet explained.
Tristan nodded. "The next thing I have to tell you has to do with your fighting style. I told you how my father died when hunting, correct?" When Kennet confirmed that, Tristan went on, "It was fortunate that he did not take the greatest heirlooms of the house with him, our blades, with which generations had fought, perfecting our fighting technique to their use."
"Two blades of Valyrian Steel?!"
"Aye. One of middling length, one short, hilts of carved shadowcat bone. Their names are Tooth and Claw. In fact..." Tristan trailed off, narrowing his eyes. "Lyn," he said, "where are they? After all this time... I would like to see them."
Lady Lynessa smiled at him. "They are yours. Of course you can see them; keep them, even." She stood, turning, and headed to the other side of the room, where the bed was. She stopped before a chest, pulling a key from her bodice and opening it.
She dug through what appeared to be many dresses and formal clothes, before reaching her hand in and drawing first one, then another sword from the bottom of the pile triumphantly, before taking both by the handle and taking them, slowly, reverently, to the waiting Tristan, whose face - whether due to Lady Lynessa, the swords, or both Kennet knew not - could only be described as loving.
The Lady of Widow's Watch presented the former Lord of Queenscrown with his house's blades.
Tristan took the larger first, balancing it on his palm. He held it close to his eye, searching for any blemishes; his grin indicated he found none.
"As fine as it ever was," Tristan proclaimed, setting it down on the table.
Tristan examined it. It was a medium-length blade of sharp and shimmering and rippled steel, mainly dark metal, but with the odd ripple that looked distinctly white. The tip was white. The shape of the blade was odd; it curved inwards as it got thicker, almost as if it were an elongated claw; Claw being the word that was engraved upon the blade. The crossguard was bone, as was the grip of the hilt; though those bones were smaller. Kennet thought that they were likely from the paws of a shadowcat, and laughed a little. Of course they are. Where else do you attach a claw?
Kennet glanced up, to see his father holding the other sword, Tooth, in his left hand. It was thicker than Claw, and shorter, with a fully white blade rather than partially, and the curve was less pronounced. It also had a crossguard of bone, this time with teeth pointing forwards from it, and rings of teeth formed the bottom of the hilt as well, though the rest was leather. The name was also on the blade.
"I always preferred Tooth," Tristan stated. "Claw seemed less elegant. And Longclaw, the Mormont blade, seemed to overshadow it. Tooth is both unique and beautiful." Tristan laughed, but it was a painful thing, a laugh of regrets and realisations. "Of all the things for the priveledged to be petty about, which of my house's two Valyrian Steel blades I preferred was the stupidest of all."
There was nothing Kennet could say to that, particularly seeing as he suspected he also preferred Tooth.
With a sharp sigh, Tristan placed the blade on top of it's counterpart. "Try them," he said quietly.
Tristan first took Tooth, admiring the smoothness of the blade and the craftsmanship of the rough, worn hilt. It was a beautiful thing, yet who knew the quantities of blood it had spilt over decades, centuries even, of use?
Claw's hilt was longer, the pommel more rounded, but it was comfortable in Kennet's hand. It was clearly not built to have the point face one way or the other, as the symmetry of the hilt indicated, and Kennet suspected the crossguard in this case was a leg bone.
He stood to weigh them in his arms, checking their reach. "They're excellent," Kennet said with wonder.
"Indeed," Tristan said, "but I have a little more to tell you yet. Place the swords down."
Kennet does so with reverence.
"The words of our House," Tristan said, "are "We Pounce From The Shadows," and the house name, the surname I should have told you, is Resquin. Your surname."
"But it isn't, is it?" snapped Kennet. "I'm born outside of marriage, to nobles on both counts. My surname is Snow, but truly I was happier with none." Suddenly, he stood again, purposeless, and began to stride around the room. "You show me all this, tell me all this, now?! Not when I was young, accepting, when I might have been content to know, but now, when I needs must fight in a war. You show me these things, this life you led, father, but which I cannot, and you say this is my heritage? You say "House Resquin" as if it matters to me!" Kennet looked his father in the eyes, jaw trembling. "Why?"
It was the one, far too simple question that would forever be asked in times of trouble, and sometimes would have no true answer, Kennet knew, but still he had to ask.
"First, I was ashamed," admitted Tristan. "I feared the things I'd lost would be more important than the things I'd kept to such a young child. Then, it was habit. I thought it was too late, I thought you did not need to know, and so I still did not say. And then, again, I was ashamed at having not told you sooner. I can only plead forgiveness for not telling you, Kennet... And you are no bastard."
Kennet glanced from his father to his mother to his father, taking a step forwards. "How so?"
His gaze alighted on his mother as she began to speak, a spark of rebelliousness in her eyes. "I would not have gone against my father's wishes in any but the most total fashion I could. We wed before the gods and none other."
Kennet could not speak for some reason.
"Darling," his mother said, and it took him some time to realise she meant him, "you are no bastard, but the heir to a near-dead House."
Kennet looked around then, at his father's proud grin, his mother's pretty smile, and even Ser Mandon's little quirk of the lips, and rather suspected he'd never been happier.
