Damon Mallister, Lord of Seagard
Damon Mallister was nothing if not competent. Though he might not be the best in terms of social conduct, he knew his economics as well as he knew his sword and lance. And to come to why Old-Man Quellon had called him cunning?
Well, this was a man who had one of the most well-positioned docks on the West Coast, and he never needed any trade vessels. Grains grew amazingly in the Riverlands, especially in the Mallister lands, and they were not the ones who took responsibility for exporting the goods.
Three rules defined their trade deals.
The buyer will send the gold and pick up the food. No gold, no food.
They only exported finished goods. If someone wanted ships, they would build them the ships but not give them the wood. Seagard would give them all the swords they required but not the iron to make it themselves if they wanted swords.
And finally, they made no trade without assurance or guarantee. Hence Victarion's stay in Seagard for the period of the trade.
As a partnership, Quellon had made it so that the iron mined in the isles would first go to the Mallisters, where a hundred blacksmiths would make them into required goods and then export it wherever required. In exchange, for every pound of iron, they received a score of bushels of grain. And the Lannisters had to get the swords picked up instead of delivered for the same price.
The docking fee was not counted in the price, so that was extra money for the Mallisters.
Abiding by these rules, keeping their smallfolk happy, and of course, keeping an eye out for corruption in the town - that's what they did. Settling disputes and carrying out the King's Justice aside, the Mallisters had nothing else to put their time and energy to, so they ended up using the extra time to train in the martial pursuits - and hence their reputation as terrors on the field.
Among the Riverlords, they supplied the Brackens with fish and meat and purchased horses in exchange. They might also sell those very horses to the Blackwoods in exchange for logs of yew and ash. They also had minor trade relations with the Freys, but none would ever hear of it from Damon Mallister's mouth.
With Castle Oldstones under their purview, they maintained the ruin by sending a squad of servants to clean and maintain the place every other fortnight. Unless, of course, some guest was expected to come that way.
All of this, Rodrik learned under Damon Mallister in the first month. To say the Lord of Eagles was impressed with his learning speed would be an understatement.
Just his competence with numbers eased the work of their Harbourmaster. Alyn the Eagle-Eyed they called the harbourmaster since he had an eye for smugglers and troublemakers. But no one could say that he was good with numbers or anything of that sort. The introduction of Rodrik as his aide was probably the best decision Damon had made on a whim.
He had half a mind just to appoint him as one for their stay there. The two fortnights he was there under Alyn brought back more gold than ever - mainly by catching the captains bluffing about the number of goods they carried. The introduction of 'fines' - pay deducted from a Captain and the crew when they tried shit of this sort - was a fine idea, Damon chuckled as he thought to himself.
If the fines weren't enough, the overstated goods were also taken away and sold at auctions in the city square across the Booming Tower. He remembered hearing from a Braavosi merchant once that slaves were auctioned similarly. It was an interesting suggestion. As long as he wasn't auctioning slaves, Damon wouldn't care - provided he received half of the share - as he had approved.
The lad was growing well enough - not a large boy by any means, but a swift and agile one. More than a touch mad as well, with how he went swimming in Ironman's Bay in winter.
And so, he didn't have much issue with getting him a strong foal from the Brackens for his fifth nameday. Victarion had told Jason how Rodrik had wished for a horse on his first nameday, and Damon wanted to see if his brilliance would extend towards the more physical side as well.
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it.
The boy saw the horse, looked at him for permission, and the moment he nodded, he dashed to it. Jumping on a barrel beside the young foal, he boosted himself high enough to land smoothly across the back of the foal - unsaddled.
The next thirty minutes or so were surreal. The foal galloped around like a warhorse for the first few seconds, trying to throw Rodrik off, before suddenly stopping. A moment later, it took off with Rodrik seated on it.
Jason and Damon gave chase, but the bloody foal was hell-bent on outpacing the two fully grown warhorses. It was still a foal, though, and within a few minutes, it had slowed down. That was when Rodrik reached out to grab two apples from the tree next to him.
How he hadn't fallen off and broken his bones was a question he didn't think anyone could answer.
Finally stopping, he turned around with a mischievous look while feeding the horse one apple and taking a bite off the other one in his hands.
"Whoo, that was fun."
He'd tan his hide the moment they got back to the castle and have him awake working the booming tower for a week hence.
And so that was what he did. In the next few moons, though, it became quickly apparent that the boy was a prodigy on horseback. In a year, the horse had grown enough to outpace even Jason's on the tiltyard. And yet, he couldn't just hand a six-year-old a lance and expect him to unhorse anyone.
Another year passed, and the boy could speak High Valyrian and the Braavosi and Pentoshi's bastardized version as well. And he already spoke the Common Tongue and Ibbenese before he came to Seagard.
It was then when Damon decided that Rodrik was old enough to pick up his first training sword.
At that point, he had half expected to see him blow his expectations out of the water. And by the Gods, Old and New, he didn't disappoint.
Jason was well and good, one of the best knights all round, with a good set of morals and a sound mind for strategy. But Rodrik had the mind of an Iron Bank representative and Symeon Star-Eyes' raw talent - with a sword instead of a spear - if he could say so.
All it took was three days for him to get comfortable with his sword, and then he was running around the yard, striking critical spots on full-grown men-at-arms and dashing away to the next one as they wheezed. All said, though, he could never get him to put on the padded armor.
So, he gave him full leave of training after the midday meal to train to his heart's content under Jason. He would still be exercising his duties as a page before that.
Rodrik thrived under Jason's tutelage. He trained him with a longsword appropriately sized for him. After two hours of strength building, he was then guiding him with stance and swing. Jason followed that up by having him run laps alongside, not on, his horse every day on new terrain to get him the feel of it.
Rodrik had quickly surpassed both Victarion and Jeffory - who preferred an ax and a spear respectively and would have them sprawling on the training yard with mild bruises under the padded armor. It wasn't because the two elder boys were bad at it; they were good fighters themselves. It was because Rodrik was swift and agile as a cat, mayhaps even more.
And the miles of swimming he did every morning helped with his stamina and strength as well. Jeffory and Victarion were not the happiest when in the training yard as a result, but that was made up by them being permitted into the tiltyard, while Rodrik was still too young to wield a lance properly.
Winter was gone, and a bright summer morning in 274 AC brought forth a raven from Riverrun. Lady Minisa Tully had passed in childbirth, but the babe was healthy. A cause for both celebration and mourning. Damon passed on the news to Rodrik, telling him to inform Jason and the castle steward to prepare for their journey to Riverrun.
They left the same day, after the midday meal. Damon, Jason, and his wife Marna Blackwood, Victarion, Jeffory, and Rodrik traveled with a guard of twenty and a caravan bearing gifts for the Lord Paramount. It wasn't a small gathering by all means. All lords of the Riverlands would be present, along with Lord Jon Arryn.
He didn't know what else to think of Denys but that he was a fool. Myrish women might make excellent whores, but no house that married into the Free Cities ever thrived for it, except maybe the Manderlys.
Shaking his head as they prepared to camp at Oldstones, Damon focused on the here and now. Rodrik was helping another of his men in setting up his tent. He watched the lad of seven side-eyed. It would be a shame if he focused all of his talents on Balon's whims. He knew Balon. A rash young man who paid no heed to courtesy and felt strongly towards the Old Ways of the Ironborn. A man such as Balon as Lord Reaper would be very troublesome for his house.
That was why he had spoken with Quellon a year ago. Damon wanted to squire the lad with the Blackfish, for not only was he a legendary fighter, but he was also known for his strict code of honor and his skill in tactics that everyone who remembered the Ninepenny Kings knew. Quellon had told him that as long as he was safe and his training continued, he would only call him back when he was eight. Rodrik only had a year left now before he was to be off to Pyke again.
But if Damon knew the Blackfish, he would most certainly be willing to be on an adventure. Especially now that Hoster had an heir. If the heir survived the year, mayhaps Hoster could be convinced to let Brynden Tully join his squire for a journey across the seas with Old Man Quellon.
Oldstones was decently maintained, he could see - as well as an old ruined keep could be. With just one room capable of being used, he had allowed Jason and his wife the room. She was two moons along with his grandchild, and he would gladly take a tent in the open for the well-being of his grandchild's mother.
When the two were done setting up the tent, he gestured for Rodrik to join him inside, dismissing the guard. Looking at the boy now, he could see the beginnings of a Lord of renown. If his recklessness didn't get him killed, that is.
"I heard there's a godswood in the ruins, my lord." the lad asked. Damon chuckled. Rodrik never liked being in a silent room and always tried to start the conversation before people were even ready for it.
"Aye, lad, there is one behind the castle. Would you like to see it?"
Humoring the boy, Damon sent him a soft smile.
"If possible, then yes, my lord. I've seen Drowned Priests and Septons and Septas and grand old Septs. Never seen a godswood with my own eyes."
"Walk with me then."
The route to the godswood was filled with overgrown grass. Damon had to bring out his dagger to clear some of the shrubberies along the way. They didn't talk much, other than him asking about a new saddle for his horse. The beast was still growing and was one of the largest horses in the stables at Seagard. Still outgrowing his saddles, he sighed.
He agreed to the request to get one fitted when they reached Riverrun. He would have allowed a refitting if they were traveling via Fairmarket, but that would be out of the way. They would take the bridge a few miles south of Oldstones on the morrow and be in Riverrun the day after.
Hopping across a recessed wall, he made his way into a clearing, where he could see the red leaves of the heart tree. He glanced back at Rodrik, who had also just seen it, judging his reaction to it. The boy stared at the tree, fascinated. As if in a trance, he stepped forward, crossing in front of him, and walked the remaining distance to the bleeding face.
No two heart trees had the same face carved into them. Legends said that the Children who carved them so imitated the song of the lands where the tree grew. In the King of the Rivers and Hills' castle, the tree was carved with a defiant face. And the tears that fell dripped from what looked to be scratches of blades across the face. Not one bit of the sap oozed from the eyes.
"I would think that's what Tristifer Mudd, who defied the Andal Kings ninety-nine times before falling in battle in their hundredth attempt, looked like," said Damon.
Rodrik didn't respond, yet he felt compelled to continue.
"Legends like that are hard to come by. Warriors of greater skill came and went, but they don't have legends after them. The Hammer of Justice they called him. How do you think he convinced his men to fight a hundred battles for him hm? Did he just order them, and they listened? No. He made a promise to his people. That till the day he could swing his hammer, he will do so with just cause. And why did the people follow him?"
"Because he stayed true to his word?" whispered Rodrik.
"Mayhaps, mayhaps they did so because they didn't want their women stolen and their men slaughtered. Who knows. But in the end, they did for a hundred battles. And then he died, and his son lost everything in the next one."
Rodrik turned around, and for the first time, Damon could see that glint in his eye. The hairs on the back of his neck stood while the air grew heavy around him.
"What do you intend to say, my lord?" Rodrik whispered, yet again.
It took a moment for Damon to collect himself. He still wasn't sure just what he had witnessed, but it scared him. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
"That I could see you as a legend like him. The question is, will you become a tragic one or a victorious one, or gods be good a terrible one?"
Rodrik turned his head back to the defiant face of the heart tree. "Who knows, my lord. As you said, it is the smallfolk who make the legends after all. Us Lords could have the greatest bard sing fanciful tales about us, but what of it? The smallfolk will remember what they see. And what they remember, they will pass to their children, and their children's children after that."
With the sun rays against his face in the dusk, the seven-year-olds small figure looked like a wizened old man.
"Let's walk back, my lord, it's getting dark, and we needn't have the guards worry unnecessarily."
Damon nodded. He was still a bit shook and followed Rodrik's lead back to their tent.
In silence, for the first time, they ate their meals and prepared for bed. They spoke no other words between them, and mayhaps, that was for the better.
When Damon slept, he dreamed of a ship that dwarfed all others, and on the bow stood a tall man. Everything about the armored man was gold - the breastplate, greaves, pauldrons, gauntlets. Down to the helmet and boots, even the sword was gold. And the helmet, dear gods. It had tusks like a boar and wings on the side. A plume of white horsehair ran down the top and back of the helmet. The front was cut in a Y-shape - slits for the eye and nose. And behind the slits, he could see glowing green eyes.
Like Rodrik's.
The Mallister party crossed the bridge south of Oldtown the following morning, and by the next evening, they had entered the narrow path through the Whispering Wood that would lead them to the northern gate of Riverrun.
The Whispering Woods, as the name suggests, was a quiet place. Tall trees of ash, willow, oak, and a few northern sentinels sprawled along the small path. There was a small campsite an hour after one entered the woods from the North. The Blackwoods maintained this as a guard outpost, preventing poachers and the like from entering the forest.
They were hailed and received by the outpost captain, who offered them bread and salt and directed them to the clearing, hidden from view by cleverly placed bushes. They held a campfire that night, and both the Blackwood guards and the Mallister guards shared stories and japes over some drink. Jason and Victarion and the dozen men he sent with them had returned from their scouting with a doe and three rabbits. It would be enough for everyone in the party - accompanied by the bread they carried.
Mind still reeling from the dream he'd had the last night, Damon couldn't help but glance at Rodrik from the corner of his eye. The boy looked closer to ten than anyone aged seven had any right to, but he always played with something in his hands - as a babe would. This time, like most other times, he was tossing around a gold dragon between his hands.
He kept his eyes on the boy as he played with a coin while on horseback. He did it with such surety and certainty of his surroundings that no matter if his horse took a small step, a large one, or even lunged over a rock, did he even come close to dropping the dragon.
It was the small things that caused him this discomfort. No child was so gifted in everything he tried his hand at. And the fact that a Greyjoy heir was the seemingly blessed child did not cause him any comfort. As much as he liked the boy, there wasn't much he could do to further his ties to the boy. Other than being a mentor, that is. And in the two years or so he had mentored him, he was quickly running out of things he could teach the boy.
He already could set up a tent faster than trained hunters. Masking a trail? He could do that masterfully. Riding a horse? The blasted boy could ride from Oldtown to Sunspear and back, and no Dornishman would be able to catch him - not even on their sand steeds. Maybe he was exaggerating, but who knew? From what he could see - it wasn't even that big of a boast. And if the dream he had seen was Rodrik grown, then he could assume he would be even greater on the deck of his warship.
While Damon was an accomplished warrior, he couldn't teach the boy much more. Siege warfare aside, something he wouldn't even deign to teach a Greyjoy, least of all with Castle Seagard as an example - he had run out of things to teach him. Rodrik had to experience it in his own time if he needed to grow and flourish. And the Blackfish, who Damon would readily admit was his better at almost everything to do with war, would be a much better knight for young Rodrik to squire with.
With his decision finally set in stone, Damon called for Rodrik to his side. "Bring Jason along, would ya, boy!"
Rodrik nodded to him and was back with Jason in the time it took Damon to shrug off his riding leathers for the night.
"Leave us," he said, dismissing Rodrik for the night.
Jason walked over to where his leathers were and picked them off the ground. Silently, he folded them and put them on top of the chest to the side of his bedroll. Once done with that, he pulled out two stools from the back of the tent and laid them across from each other.
"What do you need me for, father?"
"Tell me about young Rodrik's training. With the sword, and on the horse as well."
"You already know my thoughts on that, father. He is very good with the sword. Almost as well with a knife. Not so much with a bow, but that's to change as he gets older. He hasn't the arm length nor strength to wield a longbow well yet. And anything to do with the horse, the boy knows as well, nay, better than me already, as much as it pains me to say it." Jason told the truth as it was, though with a pinched face.
"Hmm. Victarion?" enquired Damon.
"Slightly different there. He's started to build the strength required to wield a battle-ax, but the shield work requires more time. Then again, considering his training with sword and shield, battle ax and shield, and lance and shield, no wonder that's the case. All three forms have different drills, and each would warrant some one-to-one attention to help him with it."
"Good. Might I then say that you'd agree with my decision to request the Blackfish to take over and continue young Rodrik's training?"
"I… can't say I am not surprised, but that might be for the best. At least, Jeffory'd be less moody. The face he makes when Rodrik outfoxes him makes me want to giggle, " he finished with just that, a very uncharacteristic giggle.
"HA! Good to hear. How fares the Blackfish? Nasty as ever, I'd hope? Oh, I can't wait to see him speak with Rodrik. Brynden could never let anyone have the last word. And never have I seen anyone make entrances as preposterous as Rodrik's. Which reminds me, please talk with him. It's an occasion of mourning, and his antics would be viewed as a grave insult if he were to continue as he does."
"Aye, father. I'll do that. Now is there much else, or can I return to my lady wife's embrace yet?" He snarked.
"Out of my tent then, boy! And tell Rodrik to have my horse ready by dawn. I'd prefer to reach Riverrun in time for dinner on the morrow. Tell Rodrik and two men to prepare pouches of food. The four of you'll be riding ahead while the rest of us stop for the midday meal. Announce our arrival and get us an inn. I'd rather not break my arse on a sleeping roll more than necessary. Off with you then!" Damon shooed his son away before proceeding to rest for the night.
Jason Mallister, Heir to Seagard
Jason, accompanied by Rodrik Greyjoy and Ben and Jerry - two guards from his father's retinue, continued while the rest of the party stopped for their midday meal. They had their salted meats in their pockets along with half a loaf of bread for each. Not stopping for their meal easily cut down the travel time by two hours.
While it did not take the rest of the party so long to eat the food, the time spent to break camp after they were done and get back to speed was what took so much time. Yet, their party was small, and thus, just a two-hour gap. But it seemed as if Rodrik had different plans.
"Ser Jason! What say we get to Riverrun in two hours in a steady canter instead of a slow trot? I'd like to see the smithy and maybe commission a new pair of gauntlets for Victarion!"
Jason hummed in response. While their horses could make the trip in two hours, they would reach with their arses sore. And liniment was not cheap. He looked to the two guards and shrugged as he nodded.
"Hya!" he nudged his horse, quickly followed by three other shouts as well, as the horses picked up speed.
With the speed they were traveling, there would be no communication between the men. Ben and Rodrik moved ahead quickly, with their lightly loaded horses, while Jason's warhorse and Jerry's palfrey, loaded with emergency rations and two spears, took a slightly slower canter, though right behind the two taking the lead.
And yet, sitting atop his horse behind Rodrik, Jason couldn't help but notice how well Rodrik took to his horse already. Jeffory might be the best with the lance among the three boys at the moment, but in a race, or just pure horsemanship, Rodrik dominated every single person he knew. And having seen Ser Barristan the Bold himself ride in the lists, that was almost impossible even to comprehend.
If he wasn't a Greyjoy, Jason might've thought him a Dothraki, for all it mattered.
And yet, he knew that squiring for the Blackfish was going to be a task and a half. More so for the prodigious boy.
While Ser Barristan might be known for his skill with the longsword and his utter dedication to the knightly pursuits, like The White Bull for his indomitable strength, the Blackfish was just as well famed for his commitment to war.
He remembered the stories his father told him of the War of Ninepenny Kings. While Jon Arryn had brought the best knights to the battlegrounds, it was the leadership of the Blackfish as the Vanguard commander that ended the war. The Blackfish knew his horses well enough to have them chase a fleeing army that had half a day of a head start and catch up to them in just two days.
That was with the horses and the knights retaining the strength to massacre the fleeing host completely and capture Spotted Tom, the Bad Apple, and the commander himself - Liomond Lashare.
He was supposedly harsh enough with his training that no squire of his lasted more than six moons. And that included Kyle Royce, the younger cousin of heir Yohn, who was one of the up-and-coming melee favorites.
He did not pity Rodrik Greyjoy, to say the least, since he knew that if anyone could last through the Blackfish's grueling training and keep up, it would be the young man currently riding ahead of him.
He kept to his thoughts, thinking about the more pleasant things in life, to try to keep his mind away from the sores already forming on his backside. Riding a horse for hours at end was not a task he would pick if given a choice.
As they broke through the edge of the Whispering Wood and joined the path leading south from Raventree Hall to Riverrun, the ride was a lot smoother. There were more people on the track, though. Merchants with their carts and men walking back to their lands after selling their produce for the day. The sun was starting to dip, four hours past noon if he were to guess, but they had made good time. Another two hours, and they would be inside the walls of Riverrun.
He settled in for a ride, subconsciously guiding his horse through the people on the path. His mind went to another piece of news that had arrived in these past moons. While the rest of the realm undoubtedly laughed at the misfortune that befell House Lannister, he couldn't help but feel for the man. After all, he was a recently wed man, and in the years, he had come to cherish his wife much. Young Patrek would be of an age with Tyrion Lannister and Lord Hoster's son, the future heir to the Riverlands.
Though he was more than a decade younger than both the Lords Paramount that had lost their wives to childbed, he felt for them. God's willing, he wouldn't be in their situation anytime soon, and that both he and his wife grow old watching their family thrive. But just the thought of it made his gut twist.
The somber thoughts were quickly pushed away from his mind when he saw Rodrik in front break off from their formation, and break into a gallop. He thought to yell after him and call him back, but then he looked beyond Rodrik's galloping visage and saw the triangular keep in the distance.
Sighing at the boy's endless energy, he prepared himself for a slightly more sore bottom than he had anticipated and nudged his horse to pick up the pace.
Soon, he was following their youngest companion's lead, with Ben and Jerry on his heel.
The portcullis to the keep was upon them soon enough. A quickly shouted order prompted Jerry to bring out the Mallister banners and hold them aloft while they approached the guards on the wall.
"Halt! Who goes there?" came a shout from above.
"Ser Jason of House Mallister, along with Rodrik Greyjoy, squire to Lord Damon Mallister."
He could see the raised eyebrows at the mention of Rodrik's name, but the boy just seemed not to care. Within a few moments, the portcullis started to rise, and men lowered the gate over the dry moat.
Jason took the lead this time, as he could see Lord Blackwood with his heir Tytos. The younger Blackwood had been a companion to Jason when he traveled the realm to partake in tourneys before he was married. Jason had squired for the Blackfish, while Tytos had been under Ser Oswell Whent until he was named a Kingsguard.
An uneasy smile appeared on his face when Jason recalled the day Oswell had berated Tytos for claiming to have polished his armor. It was just before the melee at Ashford when that had happened, and Ser Oswell was not happy to see a raven's droppings on the breastplate.
Tytos swore revenge on ravens that day, and within two moon turns, had brought down enough of the wild ravens to fashion himself a raven's feather cloak.
To be truthful, it suited the tall and handsome lord very well, and the ladies had appreciated the look. Tytos had begged him to never speak of that day again, and he had agreed to it for a favor. That favor had gotten him his wife, or at least set him on that path. So, as funny as the story was, he wouldn't be able to share it with anyone, and he lamented the loss.
"Lord Blackwood, Tytos! How fare you!" He hailed.
"Mallister," nodded the elder lord. He was a full head shorter than Tytos and came barely to the chin of Jason. Greying, but a full head of hair that framed an unscarred face, with a short, well-trimmed beard. Lord Tomas Blackwood was a sharp man. While Jason's father focused on trade, Lord Tomas supplied wood to King's Landing for their ever-expanding fleet. His sister was also the Lady Darry, but they were not on the best of terms. He was a well-respected lord but had a gambling problem. It was nothing damning, just that he was one of the only lords who would take on the Merryweathers, the Lannisters, and the Darklyns on with their thousand dragon bets on the lists.
Tytos, on the other hand, came forward as Jason dismounted his horse with a huff and a sore bottom.
"Rode through the midday meal, I assume? Wasn't sure I'd see you before sundown, Mallister."
Tytos then gazed over the rest of Jason's party. Two guards, who struggled to get off their horses, nursing sore bottoms as well. And then his eyes landed on the boy.
Jason was not surprised when he hopped off his horse and landed on his short feet before bowing and introducing himself to the Lord and Heir in front of him.
"Greetings, Lord Blackwood, Ser Tytos. I am Rodrik Greyjoy." He said, brushing a hand through his hair.
Lord Tomas, who had earlier dismissed the boy as a squire, snapped his head back at him. Rodrik, insolent as ever, stretched once and then immediately reached into a bag roped to the side of his horse. He picked out two bright red apples and offered them the enticing fruit.
"Apple? Freshly plucked less than half an hour's turn ago," he asked with an innocent smile on his face.
"And how do you know that? Hawker fool ya?" snarked Tytos.
"Plucked them myself, my lord. Riding in a straight line gets boring," Rodrik simply shrugged.
"Aye, plucked them off the tree, standing in the stirrups, while on full gallop. Mad, I tell you, milord, completely mad. The little lord knows my head's gone if he falls, yet he cares not a whit. Not for my head, nor my sore arse!" moaned Ben. He had taken a seat over a bushel of hay by the stables.
There was a beat of silence as the men around them processed what was said. Before anyone could say another word, Rodrik shrugged again and fed one of the apples to his horse while taking a deep bite into the one he still held.
It was to an unusually quiet group that Lord Hoster walked up to, with Ser Brynden and Lady Catelyn flanking him. He seemed to take the silence in stride and just looked at Jerry, who was shuffling in discomfort, with a raised eyebrow. Jerry, in turn, shrugged in Rodrik's direction.
All three newcomers directed their gazes to the boy snacking on an apple while feeding another to his horse.
He pushed the last bit of one into the horse's mouth and then turned to face the Blackwoods before noticing the new arrivals.
The hand that was bringing the remaining apple to his mouth stopped just below his chin and then snapped back down and behind his back, trying, in vain, to hide the apple.
"Lord Tully," he said, after a glance at the sigil on his tunic.
Hoster didn't say a word, preferring to simply stare at the boy, extending the silence once again.
It didn't last this time, though, as the Blackfish snorted and walked forward to grasp Jason by the arm.
"How've you been, lad?" he asked simply.
"As well as can be, Ser Brynden. Lord Hoster, thank you for having us in your castle. Our sincere condolences for your loss. Lady Minisa was like an aunt to me, and I mourn her passing."
Hoster Tully nodded in acceptance, a sad smile on his face.
"Welcome to Riverrun, Ser Jason. The steward will bring the bread and salt in a moment. Will the rest of the party be arriving soon?"
"My thanks, and soon enough, my lord. Around a turn after sundown, at the latest."
"Good, Now, you know my brother, and this is my eldest, Catelyn. Cat, this is the son and heir of Lord Damon Mallister of Seagard." Hoster then shifted his gaze to the still frozen Rodrik before switching back to Jason.
The young blond took the hint, "This is Rodrik Greyjoy, son of Balon, Heir to Pyke, and my squire."
The Blackfish, who was inspecting the party silently, spoke up then.
"Oh? A squid that rides? Never seen that before."
There were a few snorts and a single suppressed giggle coming from Lord Tully's side.
"Aye, my lord. Can't say I've seen a fish ride either unless they're salted and inside a barrel."
That caused wide eyes and raised eyebrows all over the courtyard. A sharp, scandalized gasp was also heard - from the same direction as the giggle earlier.
Growing more and more apprehensive of the situation, Jason did the only thing he could think of - he smacked Rodrik behind his head.
"What? I thought we were exchanging japes."
The silence continued, and the boy wilted. He raised his hand to rub at the spot Jason had whacked him. And then, seeing the half-eaten apple, his face lit up.
He turned back sharply and stuffed the half-eaten apple inside his horse's mouth before going back to the bag, and this time, bringing the entire bag of apples with him. By the size of the bag, there had to be at least half a dozen apples inside. Wherever did he find so many apple trees?
"Here, have one of these as an apology, Ser Brynden." He shifted through the bag and brought out one bright red, delicious-looking apple. "It even matches your hair!"
Jason palmed his face, already dreading explaining this to his father.
This meeting could not have gone any worse.