Chapter 20
~Jon Arryn~
Looking down at the man who was passed out drunk in the stables, Jon reflected that his former ward hadn't changed nearly that much since becoming king.
"He said the hay was comfortable and that he'd rather sleep here than try the long walk back to his quarters," the newest kingsguard, Richard Horpe, said from his spot at the entrance to the stall. The knight's white armor gleamed in the morning light, though the moths carved into the helmet looked dull and dirty. Jon wondered if that was intentional or if Richard hadn't had time to have his helmet properly cleaned recently.
Jon couldn't hold back his sigh. "That's certainly his prerogative." Even if it does sully the station, the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms asleep in the stables of the Red Keep because he had a fight with his wife.
"Here's the bucket you requested, m'lord," a stablehand said as the lad entered the stall.
Giving the blond boy a nod of thanks, Jon took the container of water and dumped it on the sleeping Robert.
"I'll smash your face in!" the king shouted as he shot awake, his arms swinging at imaginary enemies. When he failed to hit anyone, Robert paused and glanced around. When his eyes met Jon's, Robert gave a sheepish grin. "Jon, did we have something planned I forgot about?"
"Yes, you were supposed to come to my quarters so that we could break our fast together. When you didn't show up I decided to come looking for you. I didn't have to search long though because it seems most of the servants in the Red Keep already knew where you were."
Robert scratched the back of his head. "Ah, well, Cersei was yelling at me-"
"Something most of the servants of the Red Keep also already knew."
"Riiiiight. So with Cersei's yelling I decided I wanted to have some fun. I remembered the stablemaster had a good singing voice from that feast we had two moons ago, so I decided to come down here and belt out some songs together."
"And drink together," Jon said flatly.
Robert stumbled to his feet. "Course we drank together, that makes everything more fun!"
Jon looked behind him at the stall across the hall, where the stablemaster was still asleep in wine-stained clothes, snoring loudly. Turning back to the king, Jon asked, "And what about Allar's duties? Suppose I had wanted to take Lysa out for a tour of the city. Who would have been here to organize all the horses such an event would require?"
"Probably the boy cowering behind you. You're acting like Allar does every last thing in the stables, he's got helpers." Robert groaned and spit on the ground. "Gods, my head. Someone get me some wine."
"You can have some wine in my solar, not before."
Robert let out another groan but nodded.
Deciding to take pity on his former ward, Jon said, "You'll be happy to know that a letter from the Dreadfort arrived last night, addressed to you. It's on my desk."
"Really?" Robert asked with a smile. "I don't remember hearing the ravens shrieking. Maybe I did drink too much."
"As much as I hate to correct you when you're admitting to something I've long tried to convince you of, the reason the ravens were silent is because the Grand Maester finally trained one of the birds to fly to the Dreadfort and so sent a message of his own, asking that all further owls land somewhere other than the rookery."
"It's been what, a year and a half? Does it really take that long to train one bloody bird?"
Privately Jon agreed with Robert but outwardly he said, "I've never asked what's involved but I imagine there's any number of factors when it comes to training the birds. Previously, the only ravens trained to fly to the North in the Red Keep were for Winterfell and White Harbor. Mayhaps the distance involved created additional difficulties."
As the pair walked out of the stables with Richard trailing behind them, Robert spoke, "Would have thought Pycelle would have been motivated to get it done quicker given how much he complained."
Once again, Jon silently agreed. While Pycelle (like nearly everyone else in the Red Keep) was annoyed at the shrieking of the ravens anytime the owl showed up, the Grand Maester had seemingly been more aghast at the fact that a bird other than a raven was being used at all, as if such an action was an insult towards the entire Order of Maesters. Robert was the only person who enjoyed the ravens' cacophony, knowing it heralded a letter from Lyanna.
Jon wished he knew what to do about Eddard's sister. She was far away from the court of King's Landing, living out her years with the man who saved her life, something Jon understood and even agreed with given everything that had happened. But the fact remained that Robert was in love with her, despite the fact that he was now married, and everyone knew it.
And the daughter of Tywin Lannister has her father's pride. She will not tolerate being second to anyone.
Jon had known a marriage between Cersei and Robert would be troublesome, but he had hoped that the Lannister's incredible beauty would have been enough to sway the king into putting in some effort to make things work. Jon's hopes had been in vain in that regard. However, Robert's behavior took a noticeable turn a few moons after the wedding when he had received an owl from Lyanna. News had apparently reached her of Robert's actions and she had spent the entire message scolding him. Since then, Robert had been better. Not as good as Jon would have hoped, but better.
Unfortunately, it didn't matter how much effort Robert put into being a good king and good husband if the queen hated that such behavior was because some other woman had told him to.
As much as it pains me to admit, things probably would have been better if Lyanna had died in Dorne. She wouldn't be this constant cloud over the royal marriage. Robert would be forced to move past her and could find solace in Cersei's arms instead of every prostitute in King's Landing with Northern coloring.
Jon knew he wasn't being fair to Robert. His former ward had cut back on the use of whores quite dramatically since Lyanna's letter. Robert hadn't stopped, but he was much more subtle about it. Small improvements over time could equal or possibly exceed one large, sudden improvement. Hopefully.
Having fostered the king for several years in the Vale, Jon had a very firm grasp of Robert's personality. The oldest Baratheon was a good man, loyal to his friends, a great leader of men in battle, but as a ruler during peacetime he had much room for improvement. Robert was no Aegon the Unworthy but he wasn't Jaehaerys the Conciliator either.
I haven't had to nag him to attend Small Council meetings in many a moon turn.
Lord von Carstein's owls flew faster and could carry more weight than ravens, resulting in Robert and Lyanna corresponding more often with longer messages than two people kingdoms apart normally could. Robert had evidently run out of things to talk about early on and so had started telling Lady Stark about his duties as king, something she had expressed interest in.
I'd prefer if Robert became a good king because he wanted to be, or maybe because he wanted to rule effectively with his queen, but I'll settle for because he wants to fool himself into believing he can eventually be with Lyanna and is trying to court her. For now anyway.
While Robert may have deeply desired Lyanna, perhaps even truly loved her, that she openly desired to remain at the Dreadfort meant no one in all the Seven Kingdoms could force her to leave. For Robert would tolerate no behavior from anyone that reminded him of Rhaegar, and taking Lyanna from the North would surely do exactly that.
I'm just shocked Robert continues to believe Lyanna's claims that she isn't bedding Torrhen. I worry for the Lord of the Dreadfort's wellbeing when the king finally realizes the truth. I can only pray that the Gods grant me the wisdom and ability to talk Robert away from whatever disastrous path his anger will lead him down. Jon was barely able to suppress a sigh. I doubt Ned will allow anything to happen to his sister's lover. We already fought one war because of Lyanna Stark, I hope she won't be the cause of another.
Jon was drawn from his thoughts when Robert asked, "Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss?"
"Before he left for Dragonstone, your brother gave me several reports that the Dornish Navy had made about their patrols around the Broken Arm and into the Stepstones."
"That's right, he did leave the city. Has Larra had the babe yet?"
"We have not received a raven from the island yet, so I presume the answer is still no. But as to the reports?" Jon waited for Robert to nod before continuing. "There's been a steady increase in pirate activity in the area. Prince Doran wrote that the denizens of the Stepstones likely see the increasing number of Dornish ships as a prequel to invasion and so are trying to delay such an action by increasing their attacks on our ships."
"As much as I like a good fight, and as sure as I am that we could win a war in the Stepstones, even I know trying to hold those blasted islands afterwards is impossible. Still, we can't just leave the pirates be, so what are we going to do about them?"
Jon was surprised at his former ward's acknowledgment that maintaining a presence on the Stepstones would have bled the Seven Kingdoms dry of both money and men. But then, the one subject he paid attention to in his lessons back in the Eyrie was military history.
"Lord Varys has mentioned that while the pirates of the Stepstone will unite to drive out an outside force, they are quite divided ordinarily. He recommended picking one or two pirate lords and begin secretly funneling money to them if they agree to make war with the others." Jon didn't bother to hide his grimace. While such a course of action would quite likely work, that didn't mean he had to like the dishonor of it. "Your brother has a knight in his employ that apparently knows one of the more prominent pirates and the man agreed the plan was likely to work. Stannis refused to commit to such actions without discussing it with the Small Council but his wife's pregnancy meant he was unable to broach the subject matter in a timely fashion."
"Not sure I like the idea of hiring someone else to do my fighting for me. But pirates killing each other instead of our people does put a smile on my face. Just imagine if the dragons had done that, would have made the Rebellion a lot easier." The king lapsed into silence for a moment before finally saying, "It'll take a long time to fix regardless of what we decide, so I ain't doing it now. We can discuss it when Stannis brings the wife and their child to King's Landing."
"There's no guarantee Lady Baratheon or the babe will survive the birthing," Jon cautioned.
"Bah, any woman that can tolerate Stannis is made of stern stuff. Remember at my wedding when she ordered him to dance with her? And then he did?! Stannis! Dancing! And I wasn't even drunk yet so I know what I saw. Larra won't let pushing a babe out her cunt keep her down. She'll be back up in no time."
"I doubt your brother will appreciate you talking about his wife's. . . personal area in the hallways of the Red Keep. Loudly."
Sometimes I wonder if Robert knows what a whisper even is.
"Aye, he gave me a right bruising in the yard after I said her teats looked amazing in that black dress. You know the one I'm talking about, had all those feathers on the arms."
Jon did, in fact, remember the dress Robert was talking about. It was a very Dornish style of dress that was both low cut and tight fitting, showcasing quite a bit of Lady Baratheon's figure. It had set quite a number of tongues wagging. While plenty of young men had liked it, many women (including both Jon's own wife and the queen) had not. The dress was exceedingly scandalous by the standards of King's Landing and Larra had only worn it once so Jon suspected Stannis had forbidden it being seen in public again.
Still, Jon couldn't help but focus on one part of Robert's statement. "Stannis beat you in sparring?" he asked with a smirk.
"Um, so - you see, uh, it's like this," the king said in an extremely familiar tone of voice. Suddenly, Jon wasn't the Hand and he wasn't listening to the King in the Red Keep, he was Lord of the Eyrie and listening to his ward in the Gates of the Moon. And Robert was trying to explain how he and Eddard had gotten drunk together and ended up accidently puking over the walls and onto a Septon walking underneath.
~Theon Heath~
"When you wake up in the morning, do you put on your shirt and then trouser or trouser then shirt?"
The blacksmith, Brandon, paused in his examination of the sword at Theon's words. "What?"
"Jonelle asked me why I always put on my trousers first when I get out of bed in the morning. Apparently, her father and brothers would always get their shirts first."
Brandon ran his tongue across his teeth and spit on the dirt floor before answering, "Yeah, but she's a Liddle. That whole clan is queer."
"So you agree with me? You also put your trousers on first?"
"Can't say if I do or don't," Brandon said with a shake of his head. "I've never thought about it before."
"But you said-"
"I said your wife is queer because who would notice and think about that sort of thing? Trousers and shirt, shirt and trousers, it's clothes! They keep you warm, that's the end of it."
"I feel like I should defend my wife's honor at your words. . ."
"But you won't, because I'm your uncle, because I can kick your arse in a fight, because you still come to me for advice, and because then I won't fix your sword."
"That last one is definitely holding me back, yes."
"Good," Brandon said. "Now if you're done distracting me?"
"Right, yes. Continue."
When his uncle's focus returned to the sword, Theon's mind was free to wander. Even after two years, he felt like he still hadn't adjusted to being in charge of Heathhome. His father had gone to war in the south and died, leaving Theon the new head of House Heath despite only being three and ten at the time. His only family had been an older sister married to a household guard at Last Hearth and his father's unmarried younger brother, the town blacksmith. Sometimes it felt like people still went to his uncle for help rather than Theon. Not that there wasn't a justifiable reason to do so, while Uncle Brandon was a second son and so had learned a trade at a young age to support himself when he was a man grown, he had also been taught how to rule just in case something had happened to Theon's father. It had even been Brandon that had arranged Theon's betrothal and eventual marriage to Jonelle Liddle. The fact that she was from the main Liddle line was astounding and quite frankly a far better match than Theon had ever expected for himself. That said, the people of the mountain clans were a bit. . . odd. As evidenced by Jonelle's question of Theon's dressing habits when they awoke this morning.
"How'd you do this to your sword anyway? When I first saw it I thought you'd merely dented it but this is chipped, there's bits missing."
"I was sparring with Middle Liddle and rather than block one of my strikes he dodged. There was rock behind him."
Looking up from the sword, Brandon's brown eyes bore into Theon's own dark orbs. "And just how hard were you swinging at Morgan during this spar?"
"He made some remarks about my manhood," Theon tried to justify despite knowing the argument wouldn't work.
And it didn't, judging from Brandon's glare. "And what would your wife have said if you maimed or killed her brother?"
"I - I'd rather not think about that."
"Well, you have to!" Brandon boomed. "You're the head of House Heath, Heathhome and its people are your responsibility. Next time you're about to do something this stupid, remember your duties and the impact your decision will have them."
"Yes nuncle," Theon said quietly.
The pair lapsed into silence as Brandon went back to looking over Theon's sword.
Desperate to get rid of tension that now existed between the two of them, Theon blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, "When you put on trousers do you stick your right leg in first or your left?"
He only received a long sigh in response.
"I'll just leave the sword with you," Theon said, defeated. "Repair it when you're able, I doubt I'll have much need of it in the next few weeks."
Brandon grunted in acknowledgement but otherwise continued to examine the weapon. Theon turned and left the smithy without giving a proper goodbye. He knew his uncle wouldn't have responded to it anyway, not with how annoyed he was.
Am I really a man? Or just a boy pretending? A man grown, a lord, should have better control of his emotions and not try to kill a sparring partner just because harsh words were said.
Theon often found himself questioning his lot in life over the past two years. He had been raised knowing he'd eventually succeed his father, becoming 'The Heath of Heathhome' as Jonelle liked to say, but Theon had expected it would have been another decade or two at least. His father had been in good health, full of vitality. He had hoped to marry and have children, learning about lordship and fatherhood over time from an expert, rather than getting thrust into the position because the Mad King had Lord Stark killed and started a war.
Hells, with the Dreadfort decimated by sickness we might have avoided the entire thing like so many of the Bolton's bannermen if Heathhome wasn't so close to the Kingsroad.
Located at the southern tip of Long Lake, Heathhome was primarily a stopover point for travelers, being nearly equal distance between Winterfell, the Dreadfort, and Last Hearth. Despite being such a prime location, the town had never really grown in size nor seen much in the way of trade ever since its founding. While the lake was an excellent source of fish, such animals were hardly an exclusive resource. There were several mines to the east, but they had all been shut down for years, though Theon wasn't sure of the cause. He assumed it was either a lack of sufficient workers or the mines themselves had run dry.
Maybe I should know the reason though. It's my house's land, my land, if the mines could be reopened that could bring me some much needed coin. It's still spring but as Uncle Brandon said, it's never too early to start planning for winter. Of course, that's assuming any money I make off the mines doesn't get taken as taxes by my new lord.
Theon did not like the new lord of the Dreadfort. The man was personable, having come out to Heathhome last year to inspect the holding and meet all his bannermen, but he was ultimately still a foreigner. He didn't understand the difficulty of living in the North, of growing up in a place where snow could completely cover houses in the winter, of how hard food could be to acquire. Theon might not have known everything necessary to be a good lord to his people, but he knew that he didn't know that. He highly doubted someone drunk on their success like his lord would be willing to listen to others' advice on how to rule.
It didn't help that Lord von Carstein had been grossly overcompensated for his service. He was a sellsword, so he had to be good in a fight and Theon would respect him for that, but becoming such a powerful lord just because he rescued Lord Stark's sister was too far. Yes, he deserved a reward for such action but this had been too much. Theon's own house had been started when his ancestor Rickard, a simple household guard, had saved Rodrick Bolton's life during the Andal invasion, not Rodrick Bolton's sister's life, but the Lord of the Dreadfort himself. And for that he was given the money, land, and people necessary to start Heathhome. Rickard had not been given an already constructed, utterly massive keep and made one of the most powerful lords in the entire North.
Why did the Dreadfort go to a new lord anyway? I'm sure there's got to have been some female Boltons that married into other families or a bastard or two running around.
The Heaths had loyally served the Boltons since their ennobling, Theon would have preferred to continue with that tradition as opposed to being sworn to an upjumped sellsword.
At least Lord von Carstein seemed content to leave us alone now that he's been here, Theon thought as he walked back to his home, a simple four-story tower of gray stone. Hopefully I won't see him anytime-
"Lord Heath!" Myra, his former wetnuse and currently only servant of the Heath household, shouted as she ran out the door to him. "A large group approaches from the east, the banners are of House von Carstein!"
Theon closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the gods. If this is penance because I nearly became a kinslayer I did not expect you to act so quickly. While I admit I needed a humbling, did it have to be this?
When he opened his eyes and Myra was still standing there, looking anxious, he knew he had to act. "Go and inform my uncle Brandon and then run back here quickly to get bread and salt. I shall remain here to receive them."
Myra nodded and ran off at the same time as Jonelle exited the tower. "Looked like nearly one hundred people are coming. Do you think it's The von Carstein or one of his men?" she asked.
"I am unsure. I don't see why Lord von Carstein would come here, let alone with that many people, but also can't imagine why he'd send someone else either."
Theon was given a reminder of just how far one could see from the top floors of his tower by the fact that he and Jonelle had to wait for quite a bit before the visitors arrived at Heathhome. Myra and Uncle Brandon showed up before the von Carsteins, as did a number of Theon's smallfolk. So it was that a decent sized group of people were there to receive the visitors from the Dreadfort.
Theon found himself locking up when he got sight of just what was underneath the approaching banners. Others have different reactions. Some screamed and started fleeing, a few reached for the nearest things that could be used as weapons. A lot seemed to be looking to him for direction.
Jonelle's hand found his and gripped him tight. "Theon," she hissed. "Don't just stand there,do something."
What could he do? What could he say? The dead were moving towards him. Nearly one hundred skeletons were marching lockstep, with the banner of House von Carstein held aloft by one in the front row. There were several men on horseback alongside the column of the death, household guards based on their attire, and at the back, not on a horse but seated atop an enormous antlered moose, was the one responsible for all this.
Noticing Theon in the crowd, Lord von Carstein urged his mount forward and the creature walked through the crowd skeletons with nary a delay, stopping just a few feet in front of the stunned Heath of Heathhome.
Lord von Carstein was dressed in an arrangement of dark leathers, with a different wide brimmed hat upon his head than last time. The previous one was ostentatious, skulls of different colors embroidered upon it, this one was simplistic, looking to be nothing more than a cone made of finely woven straw fiber. So big it was, that it blocked the sun behind Theon's lord, casting him in shadow.
"Lord Heath."
The deep voice shook Theon from his stupor. "Ye-yes, Lord von Carstein?"
"I've brought you eighty five workers, let's figure out where best to use them."
Theon tried to keep the stutter from his voice. "My lord, I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean."
The moose lowered itself to the ground and Theon finally noticed the patchiness of its hide, and its smell. It's dead too, he realized, that explains why it behaves so well.
"Last time I was here," Lord von Carstein said as he swung himself off the moose, "you and I discussed what resources the surrounding land has to offer and you mentioned the unused mines. Well, I've got a bunch of workers for you."
Theon was at a loss for words. His lord was apparently a sorcerer out of one of the old tales Theon had grown up with, using the magic of the Others to raise the dead, and the man wanted Theon to use the skeletons as miners?
"My lord," Jonelle said forcefully. "Won't you partake in some bread and salt? As our guest you know that no harm will come to you or your. . . servants. And in turn, no harm shall befall us or our people."
If it wouldn't have been improper, Theon would have kissed his wife right then. Guest right protected the host just as much as the guest. The entire crowd almost seemed to collectively hold their breath as they waited for the response.
"Hmm? Oh right, of course of course. Where isssss-" Myra, still somehow holding the plate of salted bread, looked like she wished to be anywhere else when Lord von Carstein's gaze fell upon her. "There we are." He reached out and snatched the bread and quickly shoved it underneath the cloth he wore that covered the lower half of his face.
It was only when Theon heard the sound of chewing that he finally relaxed. "Would you like to join us inside? It will be more private to discuss your future plans."
It took some time before they achieved that goal, however. Theon had to disperse the crowd of smallfolk while reassuring them of their safety in a way that didn't offend his lord. Said lord spent the time talking with his guards but eventually they were settled in the second floor of Theon's home, the hall. Lord von Carstein hadn't objected when Uncle Brandon had all but insisted on coming along for the meeting, and Theon thanked the gods for that, so it was that Brandon, Theon, and Jonelle sat on one side of the main table with Lord von Carstein across from them with Myra providing wine for everyone.
"My lord, might you explain what you meant about using all the dead men as miners?" Brandon asked, starting the conversation
"After my previous visit here, I had my maester look into why the mines were shut down. Turns out, they didn't run dry as I had initially assumed. The amount coming out from them had been steadily going down for a decade. The Boltons decided to stop before the cost of running the mines became greater than the material they were getting out of them. Skeletons don't require food, rest, or pay so I think this will fix that particular problem."
"You said you brought eighty five um, dead men with you? And you want to put them all to work in the mines?" Theon asked. "I'm not sure they'll fit."
"Then we'll widen the tunnels. I need a lot of excess rock anyway."
Lacing his fingers together and resting his head on the bridge created, Brandon leaned forward on the table. "Making additions to the Dreadfort?"
Lord von Carstein shook his head. "Nah, I'm just tired of the shit condition of the roads. Bare minimum, I want a cobblestone path from the Kingsroad to the Dreadfort which will split to two more. One to go through Clodsdale to Hedgerow and the other straight to Hornwood's lands. After that, I'm gonna try and convince Halys to let me extend it through his holdings to White Harbor."
"That is. . . quite an ambitious project," Theon commented.
"Expensive too. But that's what the undead are for: defraying labor costs. They are cheap miners and they'll be cheap roadworkers."
"Do you seek to replace all your smallfolk with cheaper dead men?" Brandon asked darkly.
What are you doing!? Theon quickly kicked his uncle under the table.
Fortunately for them all, Lord von Carstein chose not to comment on the obvious hostility and disrespect and simply answered the question, "Not at all, for a number of reasons. For starters, skeletons are dumb. They require supervision by people who know what they are doing. So I'll always need experienced miners, experienced roadworkers, hell experienced farmers and fishermen if that's how you want to use them."
"How we want to use them?" Jonelle repeated.
Lord von Carstein nodded as he took a sip of wine. "Yep. I'm not going to stick around and micromanage the skeletons' usage. If ya'll want to assign two skeletons per family to assist in whatever tasks they need, and just have the rest on guard duty against wildling raids, you're welcome to do that, provided the mines are all reopened and I'm getting product out of them. Stone for the roads, iron for the forges, and cinnabar for the markets."
Jonelle looked confused. "Cinnabar?"
"Red stone used for dye," Brandon explained. "Worth a good bit of coin."
"Also poisonous, if I'm remembering correctly," Lord von Carstein added. "So you might want to limit how many living people you have in that particular mine."
"I didn't even know we had a cinnabar mine," Theon admitted.
"According to the records Garth found, the mine was heavily flooded, seems it was near a hot spring and someone dug where they shouldn't have."
"A mine flooded by a hot spring? How are we supposed to fix that?" Theon lamented, rubbing his forehead.
"I did just provide you with a number of workers that don't need to breathe and aren't affected by changes in temperature," Lord von Carstein deadpanned.
"Oh."
"Indeed, so," Lord von Carstein paused and took another sip of wine, smacking his lips afterwards. "Mmmh, I'm normally not one for wine but this is good. But I'm getting distracted. Let's get to planning how the Heaths can improve all the lands sworn to the von Carsteins." He paused. "And what sort of reward would be appropriate in return for such services, of course."