Andrew

The air smelled of paper and dust and years. Before him, tall wooden shelves rose up into dimness, crammed with leatherbound books and huge tomes and volumes recorded by the maesters throughout the history. A faint yellow glow from the lamp lightened up the table where Andrew sat reading after a long time. He had brought only one little lamp here just enough to show him the words from the books. He did not risk bringing a torch or other thing into the library of Riverrun, preferring not to risk an open flame amidst so much old dry paper. Instead he had followed the light of the lamp, wending his way down the narrow aisles beneath barrel-vaulted ceilings.

He had been at it for a long time, passing over a dozen books and searching through a hundred pages, always watching to find something about dragons and dragonslayers. His search has not yielded any results yet, but Andrew was not in the mood to giving up. He ought to find something soon enough or risk leaving his men unguarded to the dragons of the Targaryens which still flew over the Seven Kingdoms. All those men who had followed him all the way from Winterfell, who fought with him, who bled and died for him, they all had done it on his word. Even now they were not afraid to face the terrible beasts, believing that their King would protect them the same way he had protected Winterfell.

His men called him Dragonslayer and Andrew knew that was not necessarily the truth, he knew. They took courage from his name and his actions at Winterfell and Andrew knew that he had done that with the help of Frost and Winterfell and some luck. When he had prepared himself in that night to battling a dragon, he had very little faith that it would all work. Andrew had not bothered with death or anything else. He had already lost everything he held dear and nothing else to lose. He would have died there happily as the son of King Eddard Stark and Queen Ashara Dayne, fighting his last fight against the dragons trying to avenge his family. Now though he had several thousand men under his command and Andrew had to protect them no matter what.

He had been hoping to find anything about dragons which might give him the chance to bringing them down. So far Andrew had found none. Even the Dornish who had brought down Queen Rhaenys' beast, Meraxes had never recorded how they had actually done it. He had found other stories and legends in the search however. When he had been a boy, Andrew would have no doubt loved his stories, but now he knew there was little truth in these tales and legends. He has known some of these stories he'd read today from his youth. His mother used to tell him of different stories before bed, from the Shadowchaser, to Symeon Stareyes and Serwyn of Mirrorshield and Florian the Fool and Galladon of Morne there has been dozens of stories and knightly heroes who had been his favourites.

He had only ever managed to find out about them in the library of Riverrun as well. The tales and stories of Florian, Galladon the Perfect Knight, Serwyn Mirrorshield and Symeon Stareyes. All of them just fables from the Age of Heroes. The songs and stories would not help him in any way, Andrew knew. He had learned that a long way before.

There were dragonslayers in the stories as well. Andrew remembered them from his mother's stories. There was the story if the Perfect Knight, Ser Galladon of Morne. Ser Galladon had been a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. The Just Maid, it was called. No common sword could stop her, nor any shield withstand her kiss. Ser Galladon bore the Just Maid proudly, but he unsheathed it only three times. The Perfect Knight was so honourable that he would not use the Maid against a mortal man, for she was so potent as to make any fight unfair. Galladon was no fool though. He might have unsheathed the Just Maid against any giant tall as a tree and mounted on mammoth. And his mother had told him that he once used the Just Maid to slay a dragon. There had even been a song about it.

Then there was Serwyn of the Mirror Shield who had fought the legendary dragon Urrax. Serwyn approached the dragon behind his shield. Urrax saw only his own reflection until Serwyn had plunged his spear through his eye. It was from these stories Andrew had learned to strike the dragon down at Winterfell with the help of a spear through the eye and the sword through the gullet and underbelly. Even from beyond her grave Queen Ashara was still finding ways to help him out in everything he was doing. If only she was here now, Andrew sighed.

He heard the faint sound of footsteps on the stone approaching him. "Have you been here all night?"

Andrew looked up to see Asher Forrester standing there in the shadows. "Have I?"

"You didn't break your fast with us, and people are wondering where you had gone."

He hadn't known that he had been there for the whole night. Andrew had lost himself in the books he was reading that he had lost track of time somewhere around the hour of the owl. He had never enjoyed his lessons as a boy in Winterfell, always preferring childhood plays and wooden swords over that of numbers and lessons. He had lost all the chance of learning once he lost his parents in Starfall though. So when Andrew Stark got the chance to read some books once again, he didn't hesitate to take it.

"I was just here reading something," Andrew said.

"You should be planning for the war with the other lords and bannermen, Your grace," Asher said.

"I will be there in a moment." Andrew closed the book and pushed it away. "I lost track of time with all the books here." He gazed about him. The library at Winterfell was much bigger than the one at Riverrun and it had more than several hundred books, some very much more rarer than others. He wondered if anything from the library of Winterfell could have shown him a way to deal with the dragons.

"What were you hoping to find here?" Asher's hand swept over the table, fingers indicating the clutter of books and scrolls before him. He unfolded the binding of a book. "The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, by Maester Munkun." He shoved some scrolls aside to reveal another big tome. "What were you hoping to find in this one?"

"A way to slay an adult dragon."

He'd only meant to sound encouraging but Andrew could see that the talk of dragons troubled Asher. Has he ever faced or seen the beast before? Andrew thought. If he did so, Asher Forrester had never mentioned about it to him before.

"Have you found a way?" His oldest friend asked.

Andrew looked down having no answer for his question. He had promised to find a way and even brought Mikken with him to forge scorpion bolts strong enough to slay a dragon but none of it had given him something which might truly work against the winged beasts.

"We will find a way soon," Andrew told him, smiling sadly. "It's good to see you again, Asher. I am so glad that you are safe and you came back."

"We are friends remember," Asher said. "Even though it didn't last long in Essos when you got away from us."

A sad little smile brushed the lips of Andrew Stark. He remembered the youthful days in Braavos he had shared with his friend. Those were some of the good days he'd seen after the loss of his parents. "We always had our own lives to live even then," Andrew told him, sighing. "Me with my life of fighting and chasing and you. . . with your life amongst family to keep you safe as if you were in your father's castle. Still we managed to have a good even without knowing the truth about each other."

"Aye, that we did," his friend laughed. "One thing though, I was never very safe in my father's castle. That's why I was in the east remember."

The gods play cruel jests, Andrew thought. They had both left the Seven Kingdoms for the same reason after living about in the nearby castles for years, yet both had been oblivious to the truth about them. Andrew was glad that they could at the very least meet again as their own true selves. He had been grateful to Asher for many a things. For his friendship, for his help in bringing back the Company of the Rose to his side and even for holding up the Trident so that he could join up with Lord Arryn.

"I remember that," Andrew told his friend. "You are right. I should get out from here."

They climbed the steep stone steps descending into the library of Riverrun and came out to the corridor straight in front of the yard. They emerged into a brisk wind that felt so good against his face. Ghost was stretched out asleep beside the stairs, but he woke when Andrew appeared, bushy white tail held stiffly upright as he trotted to them. The Knights of the Vale were at their morning drill with horses trodding across the yard to strike down the quintains set up in the far end of the yard, while men from the North, the Vale and the Riverlands were hacking at the dummies filled with straw with their swords and axes and other weapons.

The shining knights from the Vale made a splendid sight with their silver plate glinting in the morning sun and the wooden frame shaped like wings attached to the back of their breastplate. The wooden wings were adorned with adorned with eagle, hawk or falcon feathers making those knights wearing them appear as if they were angels riding down from the heaven. Andrew couldn't help but marvel at these formidable group of warriors. They were called the Winged Knights amongst the Valemen, the proud and powerful part of the chivalry of Lord Jon Arryn.

He had never seen such a fine cavalry in his entire life. Andrew had seen them in the training yard running down against the quintains and the dummies, their lances always striking true and the men seating their horses never once flinching from the saddle when they rode. He had never seen them in the field but Andrew only had to hear the stories of their exploits to know how formidable a force the knights were to be reckoned with. He was told how the winged knights had gone through the Targaryens like lance through ripe pumpkin.

Andrew stood there and watched them for some time. The knights were heavily armoured with plate armour and each and every one of them bore a lance which were longer that of the standard lances of the other knights by about more than five feet. Some even held ones twice as long as the normal lances to get the advantage of reach over their foes. Tipped with cold, glinting steel points no rider would be so excited to be on the opposite side of those lances and their horses won't be so eager to move against some beasts from hell who had seemingly grown wings riding against them. And when they all rode together they indeed looked like they were angles of death. It was a force even his father would approve of.

Across the yard, a squire made a pass at the quintain and sent the crossarm spinning. A lot of uproar went from the bystanders watching him ride. Andrew watched as the squire brought his courser to a halt and climbed down amidst the winged knights of the Vale.

Lord Jon Arryn's son, Ser Robert was giving him a review of his pass. The boy was breathless with excitement. He had broken the lance as well. His strike must have been true to have broken the lance. A falcon of jasper and pearl clasped Robert Arryn's white cloak at the shoulder, and the wind was making his cloak snap behind him. "You rode a splendid course, but once is not enough. You must do it again upon the morrow. You must ride every day, until every blow lands true and straight, and your lance is as much a part of you as your arm."

Andrew could see the boy being proud of himself. He was hoping to join the ranks of these great knights one day, Andrew could see. And he was well on his way to joining their ranks. Andrew squinted up at the sky wondering what time of day it was. The morning sky was streaked by thin grey clouds. He was hungry after having missed the supper last night and the breakfast in the morning. He walked over to the great hall of Riverrun.

Ghost loped ahead of them. On the castle grounds near the armoury, Ser Robin Ryger was working with some raw recruits while Ser Desmond Grell was training some new bowmen. Andrew Stark watched the swordplay closely. And he witnessed the marksmanship of the practicing archers as well.

"Show us your mettle," Ser Robyn grunted. "The King in the North is watching."

His foe a lanky boy who could not have been any older than him, spurred on by his words and outstretched himself in his quest to impress the king. That was all the opening a skilled swordsman like Ser Robin needed. The Captain of guards at Riverrun bullrushed his foe and knocked him sprawling.

"What do you make of them, Your grace?" Ser Desmond came to his side, who was a seasoned warrior himself and the master-at-arms of Riverrun. But with all the men occupying Riverrun, even a fine tutor like Ser Desmond needed some help from the others to train and prepare the young men for war. With his big belly and long hair and beard gone white with age, Ser Desmond still made a strong sight with his armour on and sword in hand. "They smell of summer, don't they?"

Andrew looked at the recruits with grey eyes. "They'll do." He said at last watching them over.

Of that he was more than certain. The world was constantly changing. Andrew himself had gone from a prince to a bastard and returned as a king. In this world only winter is certain. He remembered his father's words. Nothing else in this world was certain, nothing else but winter. Several years ago Andrew himself had been like them, new to the feeling of a sword and shield in hand. Now they hailed him as Dragonslayer. Not so long ago I was kneeling beside some stream sucking snowmelt from cupped hands, but now they call me king and serve me summerwine in jeweled goblets. He wondered how true his father's words actually were.

Ser Desmond eyed him frankly. "I hope that's so, your grace, for their own sake."

The great hall of the castle was largely empty when Andrew made his way into it, alone and hungry. Most of the Lords in the castle had finished their meal already. Andrew walked with Ghost to the far end of the hall and sat down in the corner of a long trestle table. A servant took notice of his at once. "Your grace," he said warily, always keeping an eye on the white direwolf. "Is there anything we could get for you?"

"Something to break my fast and a tankard of northern ale would suffice." Andrew smiled at him.

When the good man came back with everything he asked, Ghost was already up on his feet smelling meat. The servant stumbled back, afraid of the direwolf and Andrew steadied him up, clapping his back lightly. "Good man," he told. "I can take it from here." When the servant left, Andrew sat down on the table and looked down at his wolf. "Here you go, boy." He threw a large chunk of meat to the wolf. "You didn't have to scare the man half to death for it."

Andrew sat there in the hall alone with his wolf. "Having a nice meal, Andrew," a familiar voice could be heard from behind. Andrew knew who it was even before he saw the man. "I did," he answered turning around to look at Lord Jon. He pushed the remains of breakfast out of the way when he had no more need for it.

Lord Arryn was wearing a doublet of cream and blue and a fine cloak trimmed with white fur. The Lord of the Eyrie gave him a soft smile as he sat down beside him. Lord Arryn leaned forward. "Andrew, when your father was a lad your age, or a bit younger, he once tried to jump off a cliff trying to save a runaway horse from my stables." A smile smile brushed the mouth of Lord Jon. "The boys had startled it off when we were out on a hunt. I believe it was Ser Samwell Stone's mount. Robert, your father and Elbert took off after the horse at once. I had asked my men to stand down, not wanting to risk any of my men dying for the sake of a horse. But the boys... they were at it never listening to my words. As the garron edged off the cliff however Robert and my nephew gave up the pursuit knowing there was nothing to be done for the poor animal after that. But Ned however, he was not ready to give up on the beast just then, even as it danced so close to death."

Andrew looked at the kind old man with grey eyes widened in surprise. He had never known this story. His father had never told him of this one. "Did he save the horse, my lord?" He asked Jon Arryn. He knew that his father had lived long enough to wed and bed his mother and sire Andrew upon her but he wanted to know if he had triumphed in his quest to save the horse.

"Aye, he did," the Lord of the Eyrie admitted, chucking lightly. "He always cared about the innocents, even if they were beasts lesser than us. When all my companions saw it that the time of the horse ended the moment it neared the edge, your father saw that he still had the chance to live. And that hope saved the horse that day."

Andrew smiled thinking that his father had done some reckless things in life as well. He had known King Eddard as the man he had become, not as the boy he had been in his youth. Still he didn't get why his father's foster father found the need to say this particular story to him. "I don't understand why you told that story to me now."

Jon Arryn smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. Though he was old, Andrew could still feel the strength in his arms. "You remind me so much of your father," Lord Jon said. "And I mean not just with the way you look like him, but in everything as well. I know what you did to your cousin in Winterfell. A most noble thing to do as your honour would have you to do. I taught your father the same when was in my halls and he did the same when Rhaegar Targaryen threatened his family and his kingdom. Thrice your father defeated him, yet every time he let him get away with his life.

Perhaps he thought it was not honourable to hurt a man alone and defeated. Perhaps he thought it wasn't acceptable to hurt his kin. . . Or perhaps he hoped that there was still a chance for Rhaegar to live and redeem himself, like the horse he saved and let him go because of it, whatever the reason your father might have had, it only managed to provide fatal results. His noblest deed cost him his life and if only things were done differently he would have been here with us now." The old man sighed sadly and looked down at the table.

"I don't want you to do the same mistake your father once did, son," Lord Jon clasped his shoulder. "When a snake has coiled itself around your leg, it's wise to cut it's head off and be done with it instead of hoping that it would let go on its own."

It made him feel odd. "Do you think showing mercy is a weakness?"

Jon Arryn did not even wait for Andrew to finish his question. "No, not at all," he said looking up at him. "But what good is mercy and peace when you are forced to take up your sword again as soon as you trade it for plowshare hoping to find some peace."

Thoughtful of the words he heard, Andrew could not deny the truth in those words. After all his father had to leave for war three times against the same enemy. "I am not hoping to make peace with Rhaegar Targaryen," said Andrew Stark. "He killed my father and my mother." And Joy. . . He held her name to his heart however where she belonged. He had not survived the gutters and canals of Braavos and the claws and flames of a dragon to come here and let Rhaegar live. No, Andrew had come here to make Rhaegar pay for his crimes and gods help anyone who dares to come between him and the dragon king. Any hopes of peace and mercy for the dragon had ended right when Rhaegar massacred his family in cold blood. He can surround himself with his endless armies and dragons, but no army in this world is going to stop me from killing him.

"Forgive me, Andrew," Lord Jon shifted in his seat, chuckling. "You and your father have a lot in common than a normal man would see with his naked eye. Do you know that?" He paused for a moment and then looked up at him. "You both lost your fathers to the mercy of a Targaryen king. You know that story, don't you?"

"The Mad King," Andrew knew that story. "The father of Rhaegar."

Andrew had known that story very well. It all had started there, the story which had led his father on his path in becoming a King, winning his independence from the Iron Throne. It had all started with the Mad King. His grandfather old Lord Rickard and his uncle Brandon and his wife had all been killed by Rhaegar's father Aerys Targaryen. His father rarely spoke of them but the gruesome details of their death was not a secret in Winterfell. All of it had happened before Andrew was born when the Mad King Aerys ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaegar had gone into disappearance with Lyanna Stark and his uncle Brandon went to King's Landing to get her back. The Mad King had him arrested however and all the others who had accompanied him. Uncle Brandon was then strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few days after he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His grandfather had been forced to watch him die. The Mad King had then called for the heads of his father and his friend Lord Robert who were only saved because Lord Jon had called his banners in defence of them.

"The very one," Lord Arryn said. "When Brandon Stark left to King's Landing to get his sister back, he had other companions with him. Ethan Glover who was Brandon's squire, then the others, Jeffory Mallister, Kyle Royce, and mine own nephew and heir, Elbert Arryn. Aerys accused them of treason and summoned their fathers to court to answer the charge, with the sons as hostages. When they came, he had them murdered without trial. Fathers and sons both. Glover was the only one to survive."

"In truth there were some trials. Of a sort. Lord Rickard had demanded a trial by combat, and the Mad king granted the request. When your grandfather armoured himself as for battle, thinking to duel one of the Kingsguard, Aerys had other ideas. Instead they took Rickard Stark to the throne room and suspended him from the rafters while two of Aerys's pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him. The king told him that fire was the champion of House Targaryen. So all Lord Rickard needed to do to prove himself innocent of treason was . . . not burn."

Andrew was confused. What did he have to do anything with a story? Did my father fought to avenge his father and brother? "Why do you say that story to me, my lord?"

Jon Arryn gave a short, sad chuckle. "Your grandfather went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again. Then your father did it again in a different time of a different king. He never came back as well. One was my friend and the other was my son and both never returned back from the South."

Arryn patted his shoulder lightly. "Now you are marching into the dragon's lair as well and I don't want you to repeat those mistakes of the past. Mistakes are never actually done until you fail to learn from them. Had I been any wiser I would have said the same to Ned when he went South instead of hoping that peace would be a sweeter fruit to have." The old lord sighed sadly. "Well, it doesn't do well to talk of what happened in the past. I couldn't save your father, but I could say this to you. Don't make the mistakes your father made."

It all made sense then. Father had gone South not for war, but for meeting with his family like his mother had said. She never told him of what the meeting was actually about. But he could see it all clearly before him now.

"I will keep that in mind," Andrew said finally. He turned to look at Jon Arryn and gave him a smile. "Thank you for that advice, my lord."

Lord Arryn patted his head gently. "Always," the old man said, smiling.