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Long shadows were cast among the tents and upon the banners as my retinue rode through the massed army camp surrounding Storm's End. I made sure to raise my hand in welcome to any lord that saw me, but I didn't stop. Thankfully as the sun was only barely still above the horizon there weren't many highborn wandering around the camp.
The gates opened despite me flying no banner and my exhausted party rode into the stables. Arya and Edric were both practically asleep on their horses, so Jon and I pulled them from their saddles gently as the rest of the guards dismounted.
We prodded the bleary-eyed children towards the stable doors when a dishevelled Ser Cortnay Penrose walked in at a speed far too fast to be considered casual.
"My Lord!" He practically sighed with relief. "After the news that Ser Balon brought of King Robert, then the ravens from King's Landing telling of Lord Stark's arrest and demanding we bend the knee to King Joffrey but giving no news of you…we feared the worst."
"Yes, well, you were right to do so Ser Cortnay. Cersei certainly tried to make it so and she very nearly succeeded." I replied tiredly, stifling a yawn as Satin arrived and lurked on the edge of our party his eyes drinking in our presence, assuring himself we were alive.
I gave him a tired smile before turning back to Ser Cortnay. "Forgive me, we've been riding hard and changing horses for three days. Have rooms been prepared for us?"
"Rooms are ready for yourself and Lord Dayne of course my lord. I have not prepared rooms for the others who travel with you…" he trailed off, not having any reason to know either Jon, Arya, or Syrio by sight.
I shook my head and tried to fight through the exhaustion. "Of course, and the castle is already full as we have so many high lords to house since I called the banners." I noted tiredly.
"If you would introduce your guests my lord, I will see to it that rooms appropriate to their rank are made available…"
"No." I cut my castellan off. I did not need to make any enemies I didn't have to right now. Forcing highborn out of their rooms after they had already retired for the night would do exactly that. "The Tyrell guardsmen will join my own in the barracks. This is Syrio Forel of Braavos, a sword master, he will join them there for tonight."
Arya slowly turned her head toward me and looked like she would make an indignant remark. But when she opened her mouth all she could do was yawn before leaning back against Jon and closing her eyes again. Edric copied her, leaning against me while Syrio himself just nodded quietly after giving the semi sleeping Arya a fond smile.
I gestured towards Arya. "This is Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, she will sleep in the room that was to be Lord Dayne's. Edric himself can sleep with my nephew; it won't be the first time they've shared a bed after all. Lastly, this is Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. He can bunk with Satin, provided he agrees."
Satin looked shocked at being asked rather than ordered but he quickly signalled his agreement.
Ser Cortnay looked torn but agreed. "Very well my lord. Shall I wake the kitchen staff?"
"Right now all any of us need is sleep. Please help Lord Dayne escort Lady Arya to her room, then see him to my nephew's."
Ser Cortnay's craggy face softened as he took in the two bleary eyed children, he gently shook their shoulders to make them open their eyes. "If you would come with me my lord, my lady."
Arya looked questioningly at Jon and Edric.
"'Sallright Arya. Ser Cortnay's a good man. Edric says so." Edric Dayne yawned before taking Arya's hand and moving to follow my castellan.
The darkness of the courtyard made it impossible to be sure. But I could swear I saw a blush rising up Ser Cortnay's neck as the praise Edric Dayne recounted from Edric Storm hit home.
Syrio left with the guards in the direction of the barracks. Which left just me, Jon, and Satin.
Satin flinched when I pulled him into an embrace, but as I kept the hug loose and my hands high his panicked breathing slowed. I clung to him, using the physical presence of someone I'd manage to save as my anchor in the ocean of self-hatred for being unable to save two innocent preteen girls from physical, mental, and sexual abuse. I would rather have died than face the life that Jeyne was living now, and while escaping that, Sansa was in for a very rough ride herself.
Eventually I released him and stood back. "Satin, you succeeded in a very difficult task that you had no training for, nor any obligation to complete. I offer you my most sincere thanks. I owe you a great debt and you must tell me how I can replay you."
Satin blushed a bright red and looked up at me in adoration. "I already owed you a great debt my lord. It was my pleasure to repay it."
I was awake enough not to push the matter, knowing that to do so would be to imply to Satin that saving him from being raped to death at the Wall like Danny Flint wasn't a debt because he wasn't worth anything. Nothing would convince him that it wasn't a debt because it was something anyone with even a tiny spark of conscience should have done.
"As you wish. Please show Jon to the room he will be sharing with you."
Both bid me goodnight, but a bolt of memory punctured the exhausted fog in my head before they could leave.
"Wait."
They halted as I gathered my thoughts.
I needed to place a misinformation mine in the path of Robb Stark, and there was no better catspaw for that task than Jon Snow. Especially if I planted the message now, months before Robb would ask the question, if he ever thought to ask it at all. I refused to gamble that he wouldn't ask though, so I needed Jon to attend my morning meeting with me so I could lay the mine. Just in case.
One of the key components of the game of thrones, something that Littlefinger especially excelled at, was choosing the right catspaw for the right task. For none were suited to all of them.
This was especially true when it came to messages you wanted delivered, for even the total and complete truth would be disregarded if it was delivered from the lips of the wrong messenger. Likewise, a catspaw carefully selected to be fed and recount misinformation could give that misinformation legitimacy it did not deserve and would not have received coming from your own lips.
That legitimacy boost could be increased if you managed to plant it so early that by the time the question was asked, the catspaw thought the message their own thoughts and so would swear on their family's lives that it was completely and utterly true.
Robb would never believe my lies if they came from me. But he would if they came from Jon.
"Jon, I will require you to be with me after we break our fasts tomorrow. Be prepared. Satin, I will have a task that I will need you to carry out while Jon is with me. Be sure to attend me in the morning before entering the Round Hall."
Both muttered their acceptance. I left them and staggered towards my own bedchamber. I was asleep the moment I faceplanted – fully dressed – into the pillow.
Jon Snow
The summer sun poured the early morning golden light through the window as Jon listened, still half asleep, to the waves smash into the cliffs below the castle.
A soft gasp made him gather his wits and open his eyes, only to be faced with a mass of dark curls that were surely the source of the lavender scent filling his senses.
Fully awake Jon felt the warmth of his bed mate. In the night it seemed he had thrown his arm over Satin and pulled the scribe tight to him. That was not what made him freeze and his heart pound though. That was caused by his cock being harder than the stone of Winterfell's walls; and pressed right into the cleft of Satin's backside.
Jon bit his tongue and rolled slowly away. Stifling the groan caused as his manhood dragged across Satin's cheeks as it freed itself. He waited, silently, for any sign Satin was awake and had noticed.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath of relief when there was none. To have awoken like that with a bed mate was mortifying enough. To have awoken like that with Satin, who men had cruelly used and discarded all his life, was a thousand times worse. Jon did not want to do anything that would make Satin re-live those memories, nor to cause him to think Jon was anything like those men. Awakening to find that Jon had apparently been humping him in his sleep would definitely do that.
Before Jon could take himself in hand, Satin stretched, opening his eyes with a yawn.
"Good morning Jon. Have you been awake long?" Jon reflected that the Reachman's voice was perfect even though he had literally just woken up.
"No, I awoke only moments before you." Jon looked around the small servant's room. Only the highest highborn or wealthiest merchants ever had a bed to themselves, Satin should have had two or three bed mates based on the rooms size. Yet he was alone, aside from Jon. He wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad sign of the treatment Satin had received in Storm's End, so he said nothing.
"The servants bell will ring soon. We should rise. Could you pass me that ointment pot from the table?" Satin asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and unlacing his night leggings.
Jon passed the small clay pot, still averting his gaze. "What is it?"
"Ointment from the maester for my wounds." Satin replied calmly.
Jon was suddenly anything but calm, forgetting propriety and spinning around. "What?!"
Satin blushed and ducked his head, embarrassed, even as he scouped out some of the ointment and began to rub it into large, soft, pink patches on his inner thighs. "I've not ridden much. It seems I didn't do it properly when I was trying to get Lord Renly's message here as fast as possible, I wore right through the skin to the flesh beneath. My thighs were such a bloody mess when I arrived that Lord Renly's nephew had to apply it for me as it was too painful to do to myself."
"Do you…need me too…" Jon gestured vaguely at the smooth, creamy expanse of Satin's thighs. Trying and failing not to blush at the idea of him rubbing ointment into the scars there.
Satin bit his lip, obviously trying not to laugh at Jon's awkwardness. "I'll be fine Jon. The wounds have healed, this ointment is just to stop the scars becoming too tight. It doesn't hurt if I rub it in myself now."
"Good." Jon replied shortly. Turning away again to give Satin privacy and to dress himself. "When we have time, I'll teach you how to ride properly so you don't suffer the same wounds again."
"Edric Storm has been doing that ever since my wounds healed enough. But I thank you for the thought Jon. Truly."
They dressed in silence before departing the room and heading down towards the Round Hall. They waited outside rather than enter. There was no room for servants with highborns filling the hall, and Jon had no idea where Lord Renly believed it would be appropriate for him to sit. He didn't want to embarrass him in front of all his lords by taking a position higher than was deserved. Every table was filled with lords and knights, and even at Winterfell he hadn't sat at the high table when guests of high rank were present
"Edric used to invite me to sit with him and tell him stories about King's Landing and his uncle. Ser Cortnay forbade it when the gathering banners meant there was no room left of servants of any rank." Satin remarked as a highborn boy who looked exactly like Jon imagined Lord Renly would have at that age gave his friend a wave before entering the hall.
Before he could reply, Lord Renly himself appeared and strode towards them with great purpose.
"Good, you're both here. Satin, please give this list to Edric and inform him to gather everyone on it in time for them to join me for the midday meal in my solar. You are to find everyone on this second list and inform them that I will be calling on them individually sometime after the evening meal."
The young scribe accepted the lists Lord Renly held out and made to find Edric Dayne.
"Oh, and Satin? Make sure everyone knows that 'no' is not an acceptable response."
Satin gulped and looked apprehensive, but still turned and left to complete his task. Jon followed Lord Renly into the hall and to the high table.
"Have you eaten Jon?" The Lord of Storm's End asked while pulling his chair away so he could stand, pulling bread rolls to him and cutting one in half.
"Not yet my lord, I did not know where to sit."
Jon wasn't the only one watching curiously as Lord Renly quickly spread some of the soft goat's cheese onto the bread before spreading some of the caramelised onion on top and mashing the two halves back together.
"You're acting as my sworn sword while you're here. Or your sister's if I have no need of you. In either case you will stand near the high table and eat from here. Now, copy what I've done. We don't have time to sit and if I make a sandwich for you the rest of these lords will see it as me serving you and lose their minds."
Jon nearly threw up at the idea of Renly Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, serving him food. Lord Renly had always been informal with him, but to even suggest such a thing… Lady Catelyn would have exiled him to Yi-Ti before the sun set.
"Stop gawping Jon and get on with it. I have much to do and you're delaying me." Pouring wine into an ale mug in an action that made those watching his actions closely wince, Lord Renly quickly made another roll and wrapped it in his napkin before putting it in his pocket. "I really need to have beeswax linen invented."
Jon wasn't the only one to frown at the muttered comment, nor the strange contraption Lord Renly had created before he quickly had to grab his own poor imitation and a mug of ale as the Stormlands Lord promptly called Ser Cortnay's name and marched briskly out of the Round Hall, eating as he walked.
The castellan hurriedly rose from his seat, abandoning the remains of his meal, and hastened after his liege lord along with Jon.
They ended up walking to the castle forge, which had clearly been upgraded recently, and were allowed entry by the Baratheon guards stationed outside. Inside Lord Renly strode straight over to the master smith and single apprentice present. Neither looked as if they truly belonged there.
"Can they hear us?" Lord Renly asked, taking the last bite of his creation and nodding towards the door as he finished his wine and set down his empty mug. Jon hastened to cram the last of his own 'sandwich' into his mouth.
"No my lord, I made sure of it." Ser Cortnay replied, his expression sour. Clearly he didn't approve of whatever it was Lord Renly was doing.
"Good. Master Mott, I trust you met with success?"
"I did my lord. Gendry." The Essosi man replied, gesturing to his apprentice to bring a crate covered with more locks than Jon had seen in one place before.
The crate was unlocked, and Jon gasped involuntarily, resting in unspun wool were blades. Blades with the smokey dark grey ripples of Valyrian steel.
"I fulfilled as much of your commission as I could with what you provided my lord, as agreed. Though there is little need to worry about weight I used three fullers in all the blades. To stretch the Valyrian steel as far as possible." The Essosi smith spoke, lifting a bastard sword from the crate and holding it out.
It was beautiful. The three fullers enhanced the light reflecting off the ripples in the blade, the dark grey and dark green battling like stone and moss in the twilight. The crossguard was brass with raised vines adorned with thorns snaking around it and the hilt was bound in green leather as dark as the blade. The pommel, done in brass and taking the form of a partially blooming rose with an emerald at its heart, gave away who this sword was destined for. As if Jon could not have guessed without it.
"You've done exceptionally well Master Mott. And I can hardly criticise you for making what you had go as far as possible. Especially when the smiths of Old Valyria did the same when they forged Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Even knowing the secret of its creation, they still recognised the value of their steel." Lord Renly spoke with a whispered awe as he took the hilt of the offered bastard sword in his sword hand, dragging his fingers across the flat of the blade as if he were caressing Ser Loras himself.
"You even managed to infuse colour in the blades."
"Not completely my lord, the grey refused to yield by more than half."
"That you managed at all is testament to your skill."
Lord Renly offered the blade to Jon. He thought his heart might stop as he tentatively reached forward to wrap his fingers around the hilt. He had never dared to even touch Ice, now he was the second person in the entire world to touch this newly forged Valyrian steel blade.
He marvelled at the lightness of it. Though it was not as large and heavy as a two-handed greatsword, a bastard sword was still a hand and a half larger, and so and heavier, than a one-handed longsword. As such most knights wielded them with two hands, only wielding one handed for short bursts to surprise enemies or when they needed their offhand free. But with the lack of weight to the bastard blade due to the Valyrian steel, Ser Loras would be able to wield this bastard sword one-handed constantly, letting him still carry his shield while outreaching any other longsword wielder by a hand and a half. A deadly advantage in battle.
"It needs a name my lord." Jon whispered reverently.
"It has one, you'll know it soon enough." Lord Renly replied lovingly, gazing at the green blade and holding out his hand.
Jon reluctantly parted with the beautiful weapon. Lord Renly slid it into a deep green scabbard covered in golden vines, thorns, and roses, before placing it back in the crate and withdrawing another blade.
The shortsword he withdrew was strange. It had the traditional pommel and crossguard in plain grey steel, with its hilt bound in white leather, and its blade was the traditional length and shape, but it was thin. Though he supposed with the Valyrian Steel it would be just as strong as normal, while being as light as a Braavosi rapier and just as fast.
"It's as strong as a normal shortsword Master Mott?" Lord Renly asked, tracing his fingers down the blade where two different shades of dark grey rippled in the light.
"Yes my lord. Even so thin, Valyrian steel will turn aside a strike from even a greatsword if used properly. I guarantee it."
"Are you going to tell us the name of this one?" Ser Cortnay asked in clipped, annoyed, tones.
Lord Renly merely smiled enigmatically, sliding it into a scabbard Jon couldn't see clearly before returning it to the crate without a word. He smothered a grin at Ser Cortnay's unamused huff.
The next blade the Lord of Storm's End withdrew was a parrying dagger. Again, its crossguard was plain, unadorned, steel, as was its pommel, with white leather binding the hilt and, unusually, three fullers in the blade. The blade itself rippled as the dark grey battled a deep purple for dominance, almost as if watching the waves of the sea in the very last of the day's light.
Jon was surprised when Lord Renly handed it to him. "I think you know who this is for Jon. But I will give you the honour of naming it."
His knees felt weak at the honour of naming a blade that was sure to be written about for centuries, but he still managed to choke out the name that had been screaming in his head since the moment he had seen the blade. "Nightfall, its name is Nightfall."
Jon barely noticed Lord Renly nod before removing a dagger, normal this time aside from its three fullers, from the crate, sliding the grey and gold blade into a black scabbard decorated with golden stags. Strapping it to his waist before grabbing hold of the black leather hilt and plain brass pommel. He pulled it free, and light danced off the four stags depicted on the crossguard as he spoke reverently. "Fury, this one's name is Fury."
Jon reluctantly passed Nightfall back to Lord Renly, who sheathed it in a dark purple scabbard embossed with a white falling star on either side, before returning it to the crate and examining the last three identical daggers. White leather bound hilts met plain brass pommels and brass crossguards with raised crowns on either side. The blades themselves showed ripples as two shades of grey warred for dominance.
"These are Warden, Sentinel, and Guardian." Lord Renly whispered, slipping each of them in turn into plain white scabbards before returning them to the crate.
The gnawing feeling in Jon's gut grew as the crate was relocked and placed back into shadow. While facing the blades he had been able to ignore it, but now he couldn't. He had to know.
"My lord, where did you come by such Valyrian steel?" Jon spoke up tentatively, resisting the urge to shrink back at the glare Ser Cortnay sent him for daring to question his liege lord. As much as he disagreed with Lord Renly, a bastard daring to question a Lord Paramount was absolutely not acceptable.
"I stole it. Ser Cortnay has been paying thieves for their wares ever since you were still in Winterfell and I let it be known I would pay handsomely for any Valarian steel brought to Storm's End. No questions asked, no matter how distinctive the piece was."
Lord Renly answered so casually it took Jon a moment to realise what he'd said.
"What?!"
"Oh don't act so horrified Jon, I'm just returning the steel to its true form."
Jon's throat closed up and he couldn't manage to form words. To steal family heirlooms like the scum in Winter Town's gaol stole coppers...
"You'd better hope that no questions are asked my lord." Ser Cortnay muttered. "Among the broaches and rings were the mask and rod of the Archmaester of Magic. I hear the Citadel has been spitting fire and demanding their return."
"They would not like the form you return them in my lord. There was enough Valyrian Steel in the rod alone to forge Fury." Tobho Mott remarked amusedly.
"Truly? How much did the enterprising Maester who got their hands on them cost us Ser Cortnay?"
"More than the yearly running costs of this castle my lord. Which is what I must speak with you about. Master Motts services are superb, but expensive, as was acquiring the steel. Added to the other projects you have begun of late you have been depleting the treasury at an alarming rate and I am not sure how much more…"
"You stole heirlooms like a common thief!" Jon was glad to have finally found his voice, though he wished that it had sounded more like an accusation and less like a shriek.
All four occupants of the smithy, even the apprentice, froze before turning slowly to stare at Jon.
Ser Cortnay swelled, just as Ser Roderick did before he unleashed his temper, but Lord Renly grabbed his wrist, leaving the castellan looking like a swollen bullfrog.
"I stole heirlooms from people who had bought stolen Valyrian steel to make them. It was no more dishonourable than how they came by them in the first place."
"How do you know they were stolen?" Jon muttered mutinously, betrayal and anger still filling his belly.
"Because if they were not, they would have been bought and reforged into blades as I have done as soon as Old Valyria was destroyed." Lord Renly answered calmly. "Think Jon. The missing blades. Blackfyre and Darksister are exceptions, but Lamentation? Lost in the storming of the Dragonpit. Orphan-Maker? Stolen from a dead lord's bedside. Vigilance? Lost on the battlefields of Tumbleton. Do you think they're just laying in hidden corridors or chests, waiting to be discovered by someone who miraculously finds them despite treasure hunters scouring every inch of their last known locations for the last two hundred years? They're here Jon, or parts of them are."
"My Lord?" Jon was bewildered, how could those lost blades be here in Storm's End's forge.
"All three blades ended up in the hands of smallfolk Jon. It was smallfolk who stormed the Dragonpit, peasant levies who fought at Tumbleton, servants who attended a dying lord. What use have they for a Valyrian Steel blade? What highborn would pay a blade's ransom to smallfolk when they could just take it and hang them if they objected? They had no use for the blades, so they found someone who would break them up and send them to be reforged into untainted rings, broaches, and a hundred other items. All ready for sale to highborn who asked no questions. The lucky smallfolk no doubt lived good lives off the proceeds."
Jon had to admit, it was a good explanation for why such valuable blades had never been found. But the theft still gnawed at him.
"'Tis still dishonourable." He muttered sullenly.
Lord Renly's features remained unchanged, but Jon could feel his disappointment. "I intend to survive the coming war with my head, and the heads of those I love, still attached Jon. I will use every means at my disposal to ensure that. Besides, is it truly more dishonourable than how Tywin Lannister acquired his Valyrian steel blade?"
"Lord Lannister doesn't have a Valyrian Steel blade?" Jon questioned, confused. "Brightroar was lost with King Tommen II since he had it while trying to reach the ruins of Old Valyria. He never returned."
"He'll have one soon. Your sister wasn't the only thing precious to House Stark in the Tower of the Hand. Ice was there too."
"No…." Jon whispered in despair. "He wouldn't. Valyrian steel blades are to be ransomed!"
"Tywin Lannister has been searching for a Valyrian steel blade for House Lannister since he returned from the war of the Nine Penny Kings Jon. Now that he has one, and one gained by conquest no less so the other highborn wont snigger about him buying it, do you really think he'll let it go?"
"He can't use Ice! He can't!" Jon felt his eyes water with anger at the thought of Father's prized family sword used by the very people who had slaughtered his household and threw him in the cells.
Lord Renly approached and gripped his shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, he won't. No matter its weight, Ice is too unwieldy to be used in battle due to its sheer size. Lord Lannister won't want that, he'll want a battle-ready blade for the war to come. Only the master smiths of Qohor can reforge Valyrian steel, and Master Mott is the only one in Westeros. Tywin will have to send Ice to Qohor to be reforged into longswords, your father's blade itself will never fall into his hands."
"I hope the men he sends it with are made brave by the narrow sea and Essos and reforge Ice into jewellery. Like Vigilance, Orphan-Maker, and Lamentation. Father would prefer that to having Ice in the hands of House Stark's enemies, in any form." Jon spat bitterly, clenching his hands as he fought the urge to punch something.
"Maybe the gods will grant your wish Jon. I suggest you go to the training yard and work out that anger, it seems I have to make time to discuss the treasury with Ser Cortnay anyway." Lord Renly sighed.
Jon barely heard; he was already stalking towards the training yard. He wanted to deny Lord Renly's words, but he couldn't. Ice had been in Father's solar when the Tower of the Hand was captured, and it was now in the hands of Tywin Lannister. Dozens of Starks had defended the blade throughout the centuries, and now for the first time it was in the hands of House Stark's enemies. All because a bastard boy hadn't been fast enough to rescue it, nor his own sister.
Jon hoped that there was someone in red in the yard he could pummel. He needed to drown out Lady Catelyn's voice in his ears saying that Robb would have rescued both.
Reforging notes: Before getting reviews about how much Valyarian steel Renly has access too, here is the list. All apart from the shortsword have three fullers even though it's unusual in the daggers. This was to stretch the steel as far as possible:
Canon Ice = 2 Longswords (Oathkeeper + Widow's Wail)
Canon Littlefinger's dragonbone and Valyrian steel dagger = Unchanged
The Prancing Stag Ice = 1 Bastard sword, 1 thin shortsword, 1 parrying dagger (green blade, grey blade, Twilight)
Littlefinger's dragonbone and Valyrian steel dagger = 1 Dagger (Guardian)
Archmaester of Magic's rod = 1 Dagger (Fury)
AoM's mask + other jewellery pieces = 2 Daggers (Sentinel, Warden)
Fanfic recommendation: Down a Rabbit Hole to Westeros – by Lamia_Kuei on Archive of Our Own
A Selyse Baratheon SI that begins with Selyse as a little girl. Utterly fantastic as she teaches the Florent's of her generation critical thinking and basic science, leading them to help turn her thoughts into an industrial revolution that propels House Florent back to prominence as Selyse manipulates Robert, Stannis, and Lysa into much better people. Her Westeros is utterly fascinating and I am always hungry for more!