JAIME

"Are you sure you'll not enjoy a medicinal bath? The hot springs are quite relaxing, purge the skin, and balance the blood," said Willam Dustin with a yawn as he lay nude on the hill sunning himself. "And God's help me, it's making me itch just looking at you." The Lord of Barrowton scratched his crotch, causing his member to flop about in a manner Jaime found rather distressing.

"I am fine," said Jaime, glancing away.

Willam shook his head, and laughed. "Gods, you're modest as a maid. Have I anything you've not seen before?"

Not on you, you oaf, Jaime thought, squirming in his leathers. He immediately began to chide himself. Lord Dustin had been interesting companionship on his journey north, and generally put the lie to the idea of Northerners as a group of unruly bumpkins. For all that he would frequently act as a young tavern rowdy, Willam was a cultured man, knowledgeable on the world. He could go from speculating whether a woman's breasts were as freckled as her face to speaking of the mazes of Lorath, and then back again.

"Have I shocked you to silence, Ser Jaime?" asked Willam with a smile.

"Merely thoughtful reflection, Lord Dustin," answered Jaime at that.

"Ahh." Willam chuckled. "Well, good. Good to have things to reflect on." He smiled at Jaime. "Ahh, my Barb shall love you." He leaned forward. "Perhaps too well. I'll have no blonde-haired children, hear me?"

Jaime's eyes went wide. "My lord… I would never…"

"Relax, Ser Jaime, I jest with you," said Willam. "I'm sure my lady would make certain that there'd be no bastard if things came to that." Jaime simply stared at that. "Don't look at me so gawk-eyed, lad. I've sowed my oats, and sow them still. What kind of man would I be if I demanded from my lady what I wouldn't give her?" He shrugged. "So long as my lady wife bears me sons and daughters… or at the very least sons and daughters that resemble me close enough that I can call 'em my own wi'out blushing, I'll be a happy man."

Jaime shook his head, and turned away. "How much longer until…?" he said.

"Not so long as you'd think," said Will. "I'll march you up the kingsroad, Lord Umber and Bolton will go their own ways soon, and I'll take you up to Winterfell with Ethan, to get that fine new army that Benjen's gathering. After that… well, it's not a long trip, but a black brother will take you the rest of the way." He turned and smiled again at Jaime. "You're getting to the Wall alive and in one piece, you realize. I've sworn Ned you will, and I keep my promises."

Jaime nodded. "I thank you, Lord Dustin."

"Don't thank me, thank Ned," said Willam. "He wants you to get there to speak your vows, and so you will, Ser Jaime. I'd move heaven and earth, if Lord Stark requires it of me." He nodded, smiling. "The finest man and truest friend I ever knew. Finer than a scapegrace sinner such as I deserve." He leaned back and began to sing in a strange tongue, a song that was both rumbling, yet somehow lilting and sad.

"What… what is that?" asked Jaime. "That you sing, I mean."

"A song in the Old Tongue," said Willam. "Brandon's Lament. Written by Brandon Snow, as he left the North after his brother Torrhen knelt." Lord Dustin sighed. "Well, the original was wrote by him in the Common Tongue, as Brandon didn't have the Old Tongue. So my several times great-grandfather translated into the Old Tongue, and now, that is the version people sing." He smiled at Jaime. "That is what we do in the Barrowlands. We buy fine clothes from the Reach so we can be fashionable, we dub knights in a ceremony we created so we could say we have knights, and we learn the Old Tongue, and write songs in it, and sigh over the days when the North was a kingdom, so no man may say we are not Northerners." He shook his head. "Do you realize there are probably more folk with the Old Tongue in the Barrowlands than there are north of the Wall and in Skagos combined?" Willam shrugged at that. "Of course, at least part of that is because there are so few folk in either place, but the fact remains, your Andal tongue has spread so..."

Jaime glanced around. "I must say, I always thought there'd be… well, more barrows."

"What are you talking about?" said Willam. "They're all about." He waved his hand broadly. "There, and there, and there's another. A dead king under every one." He patted the hill he was on. "Here's another."

"You're sitting on a man's grave?" muttered Jaime.

Willam shrugged. "He doesn't mind. And if he does, I'll lay 'im. I'm a Dustin, I've the power." He turned to Jaime. "You realize that's why Roose Bolton is keeping his distance at the moment. Even a Bolton fears a Dustin, especially when we're in our home, our place of power."

Jaime stared at him. "You're serious?"

"Deadly so," said Willam with a nod. "We Dustins are all necromancers and spirit-raisers. It's in the blood. Why, my father used to go out to these barrows at night and call the ghosts. They never came, mind you, but he called them. All through the night." A frown came over his handsome face. "Had me learn the name of every dead king buried here, and where they were buried. I've forgotten most of it, thank the Gods." Willam shook his head. "It killed him in the end. My father, I mean. Came out here on a cold night, caught a chill. Which I suppose is him raising one ghost, in the end, after a lifetime of effort." Lord Dustin sighed. "I did not weep when he died, you know that? My own father died, and I was as a stone. I cried more when mother left us.."

"I… I know what it is like, to have your mother die…" whispered Jaime.

"Well, I do not," said Willam. "She didn't die, she left. She's living still, or so I heard, in White Harbor with a ship's captain." He shrugged. "I've considered inviting her back, but I believe she is happy there, and Barrowton has too many unhappy memories. She was young when they wed, and my father already old. And stooped and withered before his time. Kindness could have likely healed those problems, but my father was not a kindly man."

"I know what that's like," said Jaime, the looming face of Tywin coming to his mind unbidden.

"No man doubts that," said Lord Dustin. "I can only imagine what it was like to have the man as a father. My own was a grim failure, but yours was a grim success, so the shadow I suspect was larger, darker and harder to crawl out of." He sighed. "I heard you offended the Lady Stark terribly, about her father."

"I…" Jaime gulped. "It was not meant that way… I…"

Willam chuckled. "Relax. Ned told me all. You wished to be sympathetic, but Cat didn't see it that way. She's ever been her father's favorite, and Hoster Tully is a man blessed with an affable demeanor, which can hide the fact that his blood is a cold as the trout on his arms. A girl does not want to see that the father who coddled and hugged and played with her is as wily a bastard as ever lived." Lord Dustin shook his head. "I remember him during the wedding. Weddings, really. Good cheer all around, and Hoster dispensing it from his mouth, but his eyes, his eyes were chips of ice, and you could tell he was weighing the company to be certain he'd made the right choice." Willam took a deep breath. "There's much I remember about that affair. Lady Lysa, looking miserable no matter how much she tried to hide it, glaring at the Lord Arryn whenever she thought no one was looking. There's a marriage that shall end as it began, with tears and heartbreak. Lady Catelyn, unsure if she was happy or disappointed, trying to see if she could fit Ned in the Brandon-shaped hole. And her tits, of course." He shook his head fondly. "Lovely breasts, really. A pleasure to look upon. Ned has my envy there." A dark chuckle came to the man. "And now Ned has 'em, and I've seen 'em, and that's more than poor dead Brandon can boast." He glanced at Jaime. "He used to show me her picture all the time, when he was at his cups."

"What…?" said Jaime. "Who…?"

"Brandon," said Willam. "Catelyn's picture. He had it in a miniature. He'd pull the thing out, when we were out drinking. His father's idea that. Lord Rickard thought his wild rover of an heir and the wild rover Lord of Barrowton would doubtless be the best of friends, and encouraged Brandon to seek me out and associate with me. As to how that worked, well, I never stove his head in, no matter how often I was tempted, and Gods was I tempted." Lord Dustin shook his head. "Not that I hated the man, mind you. Brandon was a man who it took a concerted effort to hate, though I was often left feeling he'd make me decide it was worth it if I gave him a chance." He took a deep breath. "I wander from the point. Brandon had a little picture of Catelyn in a miniature, as some girls give their sweethearts. He'd take it out, and speak of it after we'd finished the first bottle, and were halfway through the second. 'Oh, my pretty little fish!' he'd say. 'I will have her wriggling, you trust me!' And other such… endearments." Lord Dustin frowned as if he'd tasted something sour. "That lass has traded brass for gold, though I wonder if she'll ever realize that. Or Ned for that matter."

Jaime was staring at the man now, and Willam noted it. "I'm not drunk, if you're wondering. Drink may open some men's tongues, but it closes mine. No, get me alone and sober, and I'll start pouring my darkness into some poor soul's ear." He peered at Jaime closely. "Perhaps we should return, eh?" Jaime managed to shake his head. "Kind lad. Very kind. So where was I? Ahh, yes, Ned and Brandon. Ned loved Brandon. Or more he loved the idea of Brandon. He found him as insufferable as I did in the flesh. But it had been drummed into Ned's skull by Lord Rickard that Brandon was the eldest, that he deserved the best, that a good second son loves his brother, and Ned, Ned did what he was told."

A sad smile came over Willam's face. "I've oft thought that was a good nine-tenths of the friendship between Ned and Rob Baratheon. Ned had been taught to love a man like that, and Rob wanted a little brother who loved him without judgement. And so Ned got a big brother that adored him, and that was that. He'd do for Rob what I'd do for him. I remember when I first saw Baratheon, coming down in Ned's army. Tall and strong, like some warrior god of old, but those eyes… Sad, and lost, at the heart of them, and somehow thinking there was a happy ending at the end of all this blood. 'Gods be good,' I thought, 'we're following a fool.' But I held my tongue, and kept my peace, and now Rob Baratheon is dead and an eternal fond memory. Him and Brandon Stark too."

Jaime shivered. "I… I saw Brandon Stark die."

"I know, lad, I know," spat out Willam. "Never tell me, for Gods be good, there's a part of me might delight in the tale and what does that say of me?" His grey eyes shut tight. "They loved Brandon, did the ladies. Dark and fair, tall and short, rich and poor, he could get them to open their legs with a smile, and oh, did he ever. He fucked tavern wenches, lord's widows, lord's wives, lord's wives to be…" He looked at Jaime. "He fucked my wife, you know. Barbrey. When we were still betrothed. He'd tell me about it, usually after finishing the second bottle and starting the third. 'I've tempered that forge for you, Willam," he'd say, and then give out another booming Brandon laugh." He bit his lips. "Barbrey doesn't think I know, and… I'll bid you never tell her." Lord Dustin sighed. "I think my poor lady wife imagines Brandon would have married her if he could. A sad dream that. He wanted his little fish wife, did Brandon, and Barbrey… well, she'd been a night's enjoyment, but nothing more. 'Faith, you should thank me, for having eaten my fill in that trough, the appetite's been killed,' he said one time." A bitter laugh escaped Willam's lips. "It is an odd feeling, after having wanted to strike a man for saying that he's slept with your betrothed, to want to strike him for saying that he'll never sleep with her again. But then, I'm an odd man." He shook his head. "I don't blame her, you see. We were betrothed, yes, but it was a… oh, Dustins and Ryswells have betrothed their sons and daughters and then broken the betrothals for a better match a hundred times before. Such things are often about making sure there's a wedding even if grander dreams fail, and my goodfather had very grand dreams. And as I said… I came not a maid to our marriage bed, why should I expect her to? But to be thought of as nothing… To have the woman you'll wed be thought of as nothing…"

Lord Dustin shut his eyes and lay back again on the barrow, his long black hair billowing about his head. Jaime had the sudden impression of some beautiful young king of the First Men, dead before his time. "I lied to you, earlier," said Willam suddenly.

Jaime blinked, baffled. "What Lord Dustin?"

"When I said I'd forgotten all those lessons about the kings who were buried out here," said Willam. "I remember them all. Every damned one of them." He patted the barrow he was on. "This is King Durnwald the Brother-killer. He lusted after his brother's wife, and so had him done to death on a hunting trip. But the Gods hate a kinslayer. The wife stabbed him to death as he slept after having his way with her. Then killed his sons with her kins' help. It was her son by the dead brother became king afterwards, though the woman hanged herself in the Godswood to satisfy the Gods' anger. The son married his cousin, daughter of the uncle his mother had slain. They're buried over there… Caradoc the Fortunate and Tygewy the Golden-Breasted. Apparently they had a long and happy marriage, blessed with many children." He gave a nod. "The pillowtalk must have been interesting, that's all I can say."

Jaime had no idea what to say to that, and so looked away. In the distance, he saw a group of riders approaching. "Someone's coming, Lord Dustin."

Willam leapt up and looked. "You're right, and if I don't miss my guess…" He rushed stark naked to the red stallion he had nearby and soon was seated upon it. As Jaime watched, Lord Dustin rode up to the little group of riders, and waved. "Hello, my lady!" he declared. "Did I not tell you that when next you saw me, I'd be riding that fine horse you gave me?"

Lady Dustin covered her mouth with her hand, and chuckled. "Oh, Gods, Willam, I thought I'd see you better dressed than that." She was a tall lovely woman, brown-haired and with a ready smile.

"You'll never see me garbed better," said Will, gesturing to his naked form. "For as all can see, I've nothing to be ashamed of, and much to be proud of."

Barb Dustin threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, indeed, my lord. It was always going to be a pleasure to see you again, but this…" She cocked her head slightly. "It outpaces my fondest imaginings."

"Look long and enjoy, my sweet," said Willam, his hand pointing downward. "You'll see it all again tonight at Barrowton, but that will be at candlelight, so the view will not be so clear." Barbrey rode up to her husband on her buttermilk mare, eyes going up and down him. Willam chuckled and gestured at Jaime. "And our guest, Ser Jaime Lannister, on his way to become a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. Is he not a pretty lad, my wife?"

Barbrey turned to look at Jaime and smiled. "Oh, very pretty," she said.

"As pretty as I?" asked Willam.

Barbrey turned back to her husband. "Prettier, I think."

Willam gave a disappointed click of his tongue. "But I am still very, very pretty, am I not?"

Barbrey petted her husband's face with her fingers. "Indeed you are, Lord Dustin. A very pretty man."

Willam netted his hand in her hair. "A pretty husband and a handsome wife. Are we not well-suited, Barbrey?" He leaned forward and kissed her.