Jon VIII

The great table on the first floor of the White Sword Tower was covered in platters of food. Fine grained bread, fresh vegetables and cuts of meat saved from the previous night's feast. More meat and vegetables were in the form of a rich stew, a large bowl of which had been carried across from the kitchens and simmered on the room's stove.

Lysa didn't care for these informal meals but Jon found them a pleasant change. Still, without her there was plenty of room around the table, even with eight chairs rather than the original seven.

"The servants think you're very strange to send them away when we dine." Bella observed to her father, doling out the stew into a bowl for him.

Robert grinned broadly and patted the girl on the head. "I am very strange," he said cheerfully. "Goodness, I hope you're not as slow as your sister, Cassana," he added, moving his hand to the head of the little girl sat next to him. "All these years and she hasn't noticed something like that?"

The little girl made a noise that could have been agreement - or the reverse - and dug her spoon into the bowl already before her.

Jon sighed. There was a familiar pain to seeing Robert and Alysanne surrounded by children. Until Cassana had been born, he'd wondered if Robert was over-reacting and lavishing care on Mya and Bella that Alysanne reasonably did not. The truth, he'd realised, was that Robert cared for all his children - in his way.

Bella isn't so slow, he thought. I all but raised you, Robert - and after so many years I still don't understand what's going on inside your head.

Across the table, Alysanne shook her head at her husband's behaviour. "I believe the word that that Lord Florent used to describe your father was eccentric, Bella."

"What does that mean, your grace?" asked Mya, wrinkling her brow.

"Strange," Alysanne admitted, filling a spoon with the broth of the stew for Eddard, who sat on her lap and regarded everyone with a wide-eyed look and probably very little comprehension.

"No, no," Daenerys proclaimed. "It means you're strange and have money!"

"Oh, you remember that?" asked Robert ruefully. "Memory and wearing shoes - you are wearing shoes?"

The little Targaryen nodded.

Robert sighed. "By the time we're back, you'll probably be reading too."

Jon saw Daenerys shoot a sidelong look at her brother. "Do you have to leave, cousin Robert?"

"Being a king... or a lord, or a father for that matter... means sometimes needing to do things you may not want to do," he replied carefully.

Viserys looked as if he'd bitten his tongue.

Reluctantly, Jon set down his stew and the bread he'd dipped in it. "Viserys, if we could step outside for a moment."

The boy understood that it was an order, not a request although he defiantly grabbed a carrot from one of the bowls. Washed in boiled water, according to Robert's odd preference. Jon didn't care for that - his teeth weren't as sound as they used to be.

They went up stairs to the next floor, which was divided into six small chambers that had once been the private chambers of the Kingsguard. "If he didn't want to be king," snarled Viserys - careful not to shout loud enough to be heard downstairs "Why did he kill father?"

There's no point arguing over trivia. Viserys knew the facts of the matter but they weren't more than details. Robert would have killed Aerys, just as surely as he had killed Rhaegar. And that had been the result of a screaming match that Robert hadn't punished the boy for.

If a man can't be angry for his father's death, he'd said when Jon asked him, then why did Ned and I come here in the first place.

Another tangled recollection but now, with winter between them and the Rebellion, it's sinking into the realm of songs and causes.

"Your father summoned him to King's Landing to kill him," he reminded Viserys. "He and Ned together. From the moment that raven winged its way to the Eyrie, it was death for Aerys or death for Robert. And with your father's line discounted, no one else had as good a claim to the throne as Robert."

"He talks like he hates being king."

"He likes the privileges and hates the responsibilities." Jon shrugged. "Your father felt about the same way and dealt with it all by handing the responsibilities over to Tywin Lannister. Robert... deals with it differently."

"Of course you'd be on his side."

"Of course I would be." Jon reached over and clapped Viserys on his shoulder. "Let's go back down before the stew is cold. And in the morning, see Ser Brynden about your sword and your armour. You'll need to be sure it's all in good condition when you go to war."

Down the stairs again and there were plates across the top of their stew bowls. "Papa said it would keep your stew warm," Cassana explained. "Do you think uncle Renly will read stories to us like you, papa?"

"Well you can ask him when he and Stannis arrive," Robert told the girls.

Renly will probably prefer it to going to war, Jon thought. As if his brothers would agree to all three of them being on the same battlefield. "Maybe he's old enough to squire for me," he suggested.

"Only if you tell Stannis," Robert said quickly.

Barristan III

Barristan Selmy had thus far always arrived at and departed his holdfast through the lands of House Ryswell, his southern neighours, and to ride west was new to him, although the Stony Shore was directly downriver of the lakes north and south of the tower he'd made a home for Ashara and their son, Duncan.

"The Ironborn struck here before," Lord Willem Dustin advised as they road along the riverside, followed by the levy of fighting men that had rallied to the name of Barristan the Bold. Although the scarred lord ruled Barrowton, with it's own outlet to the Saltspear, he had ridden west to advise his onetime comrade. "At one time the Hoares ruled much of the western shore of the North but by Torrhen's day they'd been driven off."

"I hear tell of the Fisher Kings once reigning in these lands."

"Aye," agreed Willem. "But House Fisher bowed the knee to Winterfell and their last lords were slain centuries ago. There are no great lords on the Stony Shore, only small houses - knightly by the standards of the southern lands."

Barristan nodded in understanding. It was thus that lands had been open for Lord Stark to grant to he and Ashara. A quiet land, or it would have been save for Balon Greyjoy. And remote enough that there would not be suspicion the old affection between Ashara and the northerner she'd once been sweet for might rekindle. "These hills could be good horse country."

"After a fashion, but southern chargers find the North hard." Dustin patted his own horse, smaller and with a shaggier coat than Barristan's mount. "I'm surprised you saw a horse like that all through winter."

"We had to heat the stables," admitted Barristan. "I let smallfolk shelter there too, to make best use of the fires."

"Hmm. Well I suppose you don't have much livestock yet."

"Dornish horses are bred to cope with the heat of day and the chill of night. Perhaps I should speak to the Daynes and see if I can buy some with King Robert's gold. If I can breed destriers hardy enough for northern winters, that would enrich my lands."

"I would buy some," Willem agreed. "The Barrow knights have ever been the best horsemen of the north - we would not wish to be outmatched by some latecomer."

"Your folk are not from the south, like the Manderlys, I gather. How is it that you practise knighthood?"

"Oh, you are right. But we Dustins and the Flints have always had closer ties to the south than our neighbours. We do not worship the Seven, but enough of our young men fostered or went to war south of the Neck that the practise spread north."

Barristan nodded his understanding. "Since we speak of fostering?"

"Oh?"

"It is too early for our sons to be fostered, but I would like for my son Duncan to foster with a Northern House. Ashara and I are outsiders to too many."

"Ah, I had not thought." Willem frowned. "My goodfather Rodrik Ryswell has offered to foster Mark when he is old enough. If you would write to him, I shall add a note saying I favour the idea of our sons fostering together. I think he would like the idea, although he will want some favour in return. Perhaps a horse from your future herds?"

"I haven't even bred them yet!"

"Well if the idea has merit..." The northern lord chuckled. "Although even if you had scores of warhorses it might matter little in this war, my friend. No horse can swim from the mainland to the Iron Islands. For that we will need ships."

"Aye, and there are few in the west I gather?"

"The Manderlys are the only northern house with any number ships and they are all in the East."

"Could they be portaged past Moat Cailin, perhaps? I do not know the lands but according to the maps the swamps of the Neck reach almost to the head of the Fever River?"

There was a laugh. "Ah, you do not not know the lands, Ser Barristan. The Neck's swamps are far too shallow for any ships and the hills around the Fever river are hardly possible for men on foot, much less hauling a ship. No, such a route would be impossible. Besides which, half the crews would take ill - the river is well named. Any Manderly ships we will see must come to us by way of the Summer Sea. Not a short voyage."

Barristan nodded. He remembered Aerys had once considered cutting a canal across the Neck but grown bored of the idea. Probably Lord Tywin had realised the difficulties involved and arranged to divert the King's attention. He had been erratic even as a young man.

Stannis VIII

King's Landing didn't smell noticeably better than it had when Stannis first arrived with Renly. There had been some changes though - masons continued to work on the tourney grounds and the Dragonpit. Stannis would have hoped that some could be spared for Renly's seat at Summerhall or his own keep. On the other hand, the Roseroad had been repaired and improved all the way to Bitterbridge as Robert had promised - so if he could get a promise of help with the castles then he could probably count on it.

"Renly's too young to go to war," he warned Jon Arryn when the Hand met them at the gates to the Red Keep.

"I can do it! You need a squire!" the boy insisted.

Jon glanced at Stannis. "Actually, Prince Renly, I'm the one in need of a squire. With your brothers off at war, it'll fall to me to protect your goodsister Alysanne and Robert's children."

That was delicately put, Stannis thought.

Renly made a face. "Stay with the children, you mean. Can't Viserys do that?"

"Viserys isn't family," Stannis told him. "One of us needs to stay in King's Landing to represent House Baratheon."

"And you'll be doing important work for me, governing the Kingdoms." Jon patted Renly on the shoulder. "We'll need to get you a tunic to show you're acting for the Hand... and some new shirts, you've grown at least two inches since those were made for you and it shows."

Stannis' eyes narrowed. Renly was easily bribed with new clothes - but if Jon was manipulating him then what strings was he pulling on Robert? He'd have thought his elder brother was easily diverted by wine and women, but seeing him on the throne had shown otherwise.

"I need to speak to Ser Davos," he said outloud.

Jon nodded. "I believe he'll be at the docks by this hour. He has been hard at work readying the fleet."

Stannis acknowledged this with a nod. "Renly."

The boy looked at him and Stannis nodded. "Be good."

Renly rolled his eyes. "Yes, Stannis."

Mounting his horse again, Stannis rode down Aegon's Hill and across Fishmonger's Square to the River Gate. The King's Men manning the gatehouse still wore undyed cloaks but over the winter Robert had found the money to equip them with leather coats, reinforced with metal plates riveted over the vitals.

Davos Seaworth was overseeing the loading of spars and sails onto a round-bilged coastal trading ship. Compared to the low, lean hull of a war-galley the short hull ratio made the ship look clumsy but it was handy enough on open water and the supplies aboard would be vital for maintaining the fleet on its voyage around Westeros. No galley of similar size could carry the same tonnage of material.

"Prince Stannis!" the Onion Knight called as he saw Stannis approach. He whipped off his hat and bowed, drawing attention from around the docks. The sailors didn't halt their labours though, Stannis noted approvingly. This wasn't the court and it was more important that they did their job than pander to his pride.

"Davos." He dismounted. "How is the fleet?"

"All but three ships have been assembled, my lord. Those would be the galleys which were escorting the King's bounty to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. I left orders at Widow's Watch for them to join forces with the Arryn and Manderly ships at Gulltown."

"Good. And the rest?"

"There are forty-eight war galleys here at King's Landing and sixty-three ships without oars. Twenty-two more galleys and twelve transports are fitting out at Duskendale and will be ready to sail within seven days. We may need as many as twelve for the ships here. To clear the docks I've sent twenty ships ahead to Greenstone under Ser Aemon, along with seven of the new galleys."

Stannis nodded. "Not Robert's folly?"

Davos nodded ruefully. "The King's paddle galley isn't fit for service, my lord. With the king's agreement I'm having the wheels removed from the sides and she can still serve well enough as a normal galley. It's unlikely she'll be ready for this voyage though. Pending your approval I've appointed Aurane Waters as her captain and assigned him to secure Blackwater Bay while the rest of the fleet is in the west."

"I suppose not all my brother's clver ideas will work out."

"The new sail-plans have worked well," admitted Davos. "And if we can find enough copper I think that he's onto something when it comes to sheathing the hulls. A clean hull could make all the difference is speed and reduce the time we spend careening."

"We don't have time for that now." Stannis saw a crate not being moved and used it as an impromptu table for a chart. "Greenstone is fine as an initial port for the fleets to assemble at, we don't want ships hazarding Shipbreaker Bay. I want to stop the fleet at Planky Town to remind the Dornish of their place"

"It wouldn't be a bad rallying point, my lord." Davos traced a line on the chart. "And then to the Whispering Sound?"

"Why not the Arbor?"

"The Redwynes have a fine port," the sailor admitted. "But they'll be using it for fitting out their own ships. Oldtown is the largest city in the south and we can make good any repairs that may be needed there. It may be wise to send the ships in smaller squadrons, to get them used to the discipline."

Stannis nodded. "We'll assemble the full fleet at Greenstone and then organise them into squadrons once the Manderly and Arryn fleets join up. I take your point - if we keep the ships together then one storm could smash them all at once."

Varys III

Varys admired the broadsheet before him. His little flowers were hard at work digging up stories that would tittilate, not to mention the occasional matter of more magnitude, some of which he even allowed to be printed.

When he looked up from the table there were two men in his most private chamber. He hadn't invited them and they both had their hands on swords. Really it was just like old times.

"Lord Connington, Ser Arthur. Welcome to Pentos, my friends."

"We aren't friends," Dayne growled. The Sword of Morning still wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Really, it was as if the man wasn't even trying. Varys had had three reports of his arrival the previous day. It was entirely probable that Robert Baratheon knew by now, he had at last two spies in Pentos that Varys was aware of.

Hmmm. Would it be unreasonable to put a small article in the next broadsheet? After all, King Robert had a subscription...

"After all the years we've know each other?" he asked Arthur mildly. "You wound me."

Jon Connington held a hand up before Arthur Dayne could respond further. "Please excuse Ser Arthur's temper. We have had a long voyage from Volantis." The one-time Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King at least dressed the part of a common sell-sword and with hair dyed blue.

"I don't like to travel myself," admitted Varys. "Please, sit down. I hope your families are well?"

"Young Griff is in the care of good friends. And Ser Arthur has two nephews since you last met."

"Ah yes, Edric Dayne and Duncan Selmy. Would you like them announced? Certain of the more distinguished families in Pentos and Braavos feel there's a certain cachet in having births, deaths and marriages made public through my good offices." People just... gave him this information. Without even seeking recompense. Remarkable.

"Don't put yourself out." Dayne leant over the desk. "Tell us about Greyjoy."

"Hmm? Lord Quellon has been dead some five years now, as with his son Urrigon. The new lord of the Iron Islands is Balon, who has three living brothers, three sons and a daughter. I don't make announcements about Westerosi families often as there's little interest here..."

"Don't -!" The knight thumped the table vigorously.

"You could certainly kill me, Ser Arthur," Varys cut him off, "But you might find it harder to escape the building and harder still to depart Pentos. And if you are identified as my killer, well there's a substantial sum held by the Iron Bank of Braavos to arrange certain consequences for my death."

Connington rolled his eyes. "We're not here to harm you, Lord Varys. But since the news has reached us, far to the east, you must be aware that Balon Greyjoy is in rebellion against the Iron Throne."

"There is no longer an Iron Throne, something we must all adjust to." Varys relaxed back into his chair. "But yes, my little flowers - such as remain in Westeros - have advised me that Balon now styles himself King of the Iron Islands. You will have heard that Lannisport was burned, I imagine?"

"And what do you make of his chances?"

Varys pursed his lips. "I am neither a knight nor a general, my lord. However, the ability of a few islands to resist an entire continent seems... questionable."

"The Iron Fleet is formidable. And if the Usurper dies in battle..."

"Then a regency would exist for his son. If he dies, as children sometimes do, Stannis Baratheon has been groomed as a potential successor. And then there is a third brother who will be kept safely away from the war." Varys shook his head. "You may wish to consider how the Iron Fleet was built."

Both men frowned in confusion and Varys refrained from sighing. Really, was thought so difficult? "The Iron Islands aren't known for their trees, gentlemen. Without access to the woods of the mainland it will be very hard for Lord Greyjoy to replace his losses. Meanwhile Robert Baratheon has shipyards in the east that can replace anything lost, given time. Whether he wins or loses the first battle at sea, it is very unlikely he will lose the last battle at sea."

"Then there is no hope?"

"A decisive Baratheon victory would solidify the new dynasty's position. A drawn out conflict could perhaps weaken them in the long run." Varys slipped his hands into his sleeves. "Show patience my friends. The Seven Kingdoms would hardly welcome a child upon whatever throne you wish to replace that of Aegon the Conqueror. Until a Targaryen is of age to rule the game is one of waiting."

"Says the Spider in his web."

Varys eyes met Ser Arthur's. "Says the knight who walked into that web," he reminded the Dornishman mildly. "I would remind you that you were fully pardoned of wrongdoing. Out of the three of us, you are the only one who can return to Westeros and move freely. That being the case I have to wonder why you are in Essos at all."

It was the Sword of Morning who looked away first.

"He was keeping me informed of events there," Connington advised. "My first direct information since the winter."

"And I wanted to meet the boy."

"Of course." Varys bowed his head. "We are all pleased that he thrives."

"One day the Usurper will regret that."

"I would not venture to speculate as to his thinking, but you may very well be right." He gave them a cool stare. "Is there anything else I can help you with? Most particularly anything so pressing I can't go on with my daily affairs? One likes to pay attention to one's employees..."