Rolland Storm

In which there is storm, waters, and stone

"Why are we doing this?" Gendry grumbled for the dozenth time. "Couldn't they just have taken a rowboat away from Dragonstone?"

"Have you ever tried rowing from Dragonstone to the mainland?" Rolland shot back. "You'd still be rowing."

"Didn't have a boat jus' laying about for pleasure trips," the young smith muttered, kicking a stone down the quay. Rolland did not press the point. Trying to determine the purpose and destination of each sailing ship that had passed through the harbor of Rook's Rest a month previously was probably not what the boy had expected a rescue mission to entail.

But this had to work, Rolland told himself. It had to have been a sailing ship or galley that Robert Arryn's kidnappers had escaped in; otherwise, they'd have been picked up by a pursuing royal ship. And that ship had to have come from nearby – here at Rook's Rest on Blackwater Bay, or Cracklaw Point, or Massey's Hook. How else could they have alerted exactly when to be waiting off Dragonstone without lingering and attracting suspicion?

Where the ship would have gone afterwards was anybody's guess. Rolland did not think King's Landing – there were too many royal ships maintaining the blockade there, and that was the first direction the fleet had pursued. But if he and Gendry could find a fast ship that had left at the right time, with strange passengers or cargo, and then persuade some of its crew to talk, either with silver or steel…then there was a chance of tracking down where young Robert had gone. Deep down, Rolland knew it was a fool's hope. When had he become so foolish? He banished those thoughts. It had to work. And so they trudged from ship to ship, tavern to tavern, listening and asking.

Gendry was in an increasingly foul mood that morning, and by lunch Rolland had had enough. "If you wish to return to King's Landing, I expect King Stannis will have taken it by now. I can find you a ride with some merchant on his way south."

Gendry stabbed his knife harder into his chunk of hard cheese. "You want to be rid of me, too," the smith said accusingly. "I thought you were different. You're no different than all the others. Tobho Mott, Yoren, Stannis, selling and buying me 'cause you don't have any more use for me."

That stung a little, though Rolland would not show it. "I wish to protect you, but do you wish to help me or not?"

"It's not protecting I want. Teach me how to fight." The words seemed to spill out of Gendry now. "I know how to use a hammer and I'm strong. They say King Robert fought with a hammer. Show me how and so can I."

"And why should I teach you, and not some master-of-arms in King's Landing?"

"How exactly are you reckoning on rescuing your lordling with that?" Gendry asked, motioning at Rolland's once-broken arm. It was no longer in a sling, but still hung limply at his side. "Going to talk his captors into giving him back to you? I can be of use to you then."

Rolland sighed. He took a last bite of cheese and hardtack and then stood up. "Very well. Pick up that rucksack and run to the end of the clearing and back."

Gendry stared blankly at him.

"You wanted to learn to fight, didn't you? Well, if you're fighting with a hammer, you'd better to able to swing it for an hour and still be able to lift it. It won't be Tobho Mott hurrying you along; if you have to stop to lower your weapon and catch your breath in battle, somebody will bash your head in. Now, are you going to run or not?"

Gendry ran.

They spent that afternoon training; by the end rivulets of sweat were dripping down both their backs and Gendry could barely lift his arms, but the lad had a smile on his face. And Rolland had to admit that the familiar work had made him much more cheerful, too.

That evening, they directed their way back into the town of Rook's Rest, below the Stantons' castle, to find a tavern. Visiting taverns drained his bag of silver stags faster than Rolland liked, but the sailors from the nearby docks were far likelier to share information after a few pints of ale and with a warm meal in their bellies.

"Steak and kidney pie," Rolland called to the serving girl as they entered the Sunfyre's Rest and he looked around for an empty spot, finally settling on a table occupied by a solitary man with greying hair whose back was to the door. "Good evening to you, good ser…" Rolland started to say as he settled into the seat next to the old man, before he recognized the man. "Septon? You're a long way from Gulltown."

"And you are a long way from your king's army, Ser Rolland." The septon cast an appraising look upon Rolland, nodding sympathetically at the way his arm hung, before turning to Gendry, who was swinging their bags under the table and then draping himself over a chair. "And this lad is?"

"Gendry Waters. He is…my squire. Gendry, I met this septon in Gulltown before we sailed for the Riverlands. He was a knight once, before his leg was injured and he became a septon. I don't believe you ever told me your name, Septon…"

"Ignace."

"Septon Ignace. What brings you from Gulltown to Rook's Rest?"

The septon took a sip of his ale. "It is a long tale, Ser Rolland, and I fear you may not have the patience for it."

"I am a patient man, septon." Rolland thought for a moment of Sweetrobin.

"As you wish, then. It is to King's Landing that I direct my steps – and how many steps that is! I had taken passage on a ship from Gulltown, but the captain would sail no further than here because of the war. I will continue regardless; if the Seven wish it, this cruel war will be over by the time I have reached King's Landing."

"And your business in King's Landing?"

"A suggestion, a glimmer of an idea. When you were a child living in the Stormlands, Ser Rolland, where was your septon originally from?"

Rolland had to stop and think. Septon Pate had been such a fixture in his village that he could not imagine a time when Pate had not been a septon. "I think from the same village where I was born," he said slowly.

Septon Ignace nodded slowly. "I think you will find the same throughout most of the Seven Kingdoms. If a young man in a poor village feels the calling to the faith, he will most likely go to the septon in his village to be trained and take his vows. And there he will remain for the rest of his life, hoping that in time another will feel the call to help assist him in his labors. Or if he feels the lust for travel, then perhaps he will leave the town he has known his whole life and set out with a few stags in his purse to minister to the countryside. He may be fortunate enough to find a septon in a castle willing to take him in and teach him. But those who can afford to do so are usually those who have the least dedication to their calling. Ironic, is it not, Ser Rolland? It pains every time I have to turn away a young man, burning with fervor for the Faith and eager to learn. And he will certainly not find a welcome at the Starry Sept or the Great Sept. Those do not have a place amongst themselves for any but the rich and the connected. Doubtless you know of how our current High Septon was selected. And the next? Septon Ollidor, the son of a King's Landing merchant? Or Septon Luceon, a son of Walder Frey? They will say that any outside their ranks does not know the faith well enough. How can he, when they refuse to teach it? Or perhaps it is fervor that they fear, a reminder of what they should be. And so the faith of the people declines as their shepherds stray further and further from the light of truth. The wicked prosper, and those with fervor are shunned and far too often have but a bare knowledge of the faith themselves to share."

"You spoke of an idea, septon."

"Forgive an old man's ramblings, Ser Rolland. When you have seen as many winters as me, time takes another meaning. But yes, I have an idea – for a great school in King's Landing, where young men from across the Seven Kingdoms who wish could be brought to learn their letters, to study the Seven-Pointed Star, to be formed in their faith. They would be admitted with no regards for their birth or ability to pay, and then sent back to their homes as better shepherds. I can guess what you are thinking, Ser Rolland. How would such an endeavor be funded? It for that purpose that I direct my steps to King's Landing. I went there once, when Robert was king, to ask for royal patronage and protection for this endeavor. I had heard much of Robert's generosity, but he had no inclination to listen to my petitions. I was directed to his master of coin, and a blacker heart I have never seen than in that man. In the end I was left on the street, ignored and penniless as those I sought to aid. I found my way back to Gulltown, but the idea has not died. There will be a new king when I arrive at King's Landing, and perhaps peace. And perhaps that new king will listen."

"King Stannis does not keep to the Seven, septon. And if by some chance Renly holds the city, I doubt you will receive a warmer welcome than from Robert. I fear your endeavor is doomed to fail, no matter how much I might wish otherwise."

Septon Ignace nodded slowly. "I have never met Stannis, but I have heard he is a man of duty. Perhaps he can be convinced to truly be a Protector of the Faith. Or perhaps you are right, and it is a fool's hope. Yet it would be a fool not to try." Rolland could not help but think of Sweetrobin, and nod. "I do not have much else than this grand idea to live for," Septon Ignace continued. "Yet you have a long life ahead of you. What takes you away from the warrior's life that you love so much?"

"Lord Robert Arryn. You may have heard that he was kidnapped from Dragonstone a month past. I am trying to find and rescue him," Rolland replied quietly. "I was given the duty of looking after him; I am duty-bound to try to find him," he added quickly. "I think that he was taken away on a ship that sailed from a port near Dragonstone, such as here at Rook's Rest."

The septon nodded slowly; thankfully, he did not press Rolland about his concern for Sweetrobin. "It is curious," Septon Ignace said. "There was a young woman who had the same mission as you. I told her it was not safe for her to be travelling by herself in these troubled times, but she has a stubborn heart and would not listen."

Rolland was not sure what to think. He had thought that Stannis might send other agents to look for Sweetrobin, but Stannis would probably sooner send a pirate than a woman. "Where is she?"

"There, at the far table."

Rolland glanced quickly over at there the septon indicated. He took in a wiry young woman with black hair cropped short, wearing riding leathers and a light shirt of silvered ringmail. Rolland guessed she was in her cups, judging by the number of empty mugs scattered around her. "Many thanks, Septon Ignace. May the Seven look favorably upon your endeavors." Rolland turned to Gendry, who had been listening intently to the septon. "Approach her from the opposite side as me. We're going to have a talk with her and find out who she is and why she's here too," he whispered. He got to his feet and headed towards the young woman, Gendry trailing behind.

He cleared his throat when he and Gendry were on either side of the young woman's chair, wondering what to say. But when the young woman looked up and saw them looming over her, she jumped to her feet and, far faster than Rolland thought possible, had a knife at Gendry's throat. "What do you lot want?" she demanded, breathing heavily.

Rolland shot Gendry an annoyed look. "You just said we were going to talk," Gendry said back grumpily. Gendry stood over a head taller than the woman; he would probably be safe if it came to a fight, Rolland concluded.

But the whole tavern was watching with interest now, Rolland noticed with annoyance. He unbuckled his sword and set it down, then took a step forwards with his hands outspread. "We just want to talk," he said. "Let my companion go."

"Tell me what your business is."

"We are looking for the same person as you, to bring him safely back to Dragonstone. We want to know why you are looking for him."

The woman's arm relaxed for a moment, before coming back up. "And why should I trust you?"

"I was his guardian on Dragonstone. If you know him, you will know that his nose is always runny in the morning and he swipes at it with the back of his hand. Who are you, and who do you serve?"

"Mya Stone. I serve…King Stannis, I suppose. I want to rescue Robert Arryn too."

Rolland paused for a moment, trying to remember where he had heard the name. "You served at the Eyrie," he said at last. "Ser Vardis Egen speaks highly of you."

"What, and you believe me?"

"I do. Kindly unhand your little brother."

"Very well. Er…little brother?"

They talked long into the night, as the rest of the tavern lost interest in them. Septon Ignace helped, steering some of the more curious ones away, before retiring to his room.

Mya told Rolland and Gendry that Lysa Arryn had dismissed all but a handful of servants especially loyal to her at the Eyrie. Mad was the name that was being used for Lysa now, mad and paranoid about disloyalty and about villains that had taken Sweetrobin away from her and were coming for her too. Lysa had not even been seen for weeks; she was shut up in her rooms in the Eyrie and took her meals through a locked door. Mya had been one of those dismissed. Lord Nestor Royce had offered her continued employment at the Gates of the Moon, and she had accepted till she heard two pieces of news – that Robert Arryn had disappeared, and that Mychel Redfort had been betrothed to Ysilla Royce.

"Mychel was going to marry me," she sniffed. "But he didn't send me a word about this betrothal. I suppose Lord Redfort wouldn't allow it. I decided I'd try to find Lord Arryn and prove I was worthy of Mychel."

"Lord Horton Redfort is dead. Mychel arranged that betrothal with Lord Yohn Royce of his own accord." Rolland had thought to try to speak gently, and realized that he had failed as Mya recoiled.

"He never really meant to marry me then," she said, realization quickly sinking in. "He was taking advantage of me all these years."

"He's not worth trying to prove yourself to," Rolland declared. "One bastard to another, your worth doesn't depend one tinker's curse on him."

Mya sat quietly there, head bowed over her wine. Rolland did not say anything, to allow her space, and he motioned to Gendry to do the same. At last she lifted her head, and quaffed the last of the wine. "Where are you staying?"

"Huh?"

"You know what? I'm not going to let that bastard guide my life. I'm going with you regardless to find Robert Arryn. More wine!"