Chapter 2 - Moat Cailin II

Jaehaerys

In the morning after their arrival at Moat Cailin, Jae awoke after another dream of cold, dark winter. In his dreams snow covered the ground, the cold was biting, his breath clearly visible. He was older, with a short itchy beard on his skin. Distant wolves all around him were answering the howling wind, as if to give it lessons. But rather than frighten him, he found comfort in the howling of the wolves.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he rose slowly. It had been marvelous to sleep in a proper featherbed again, to be embedded deep under warm furs. If only his recurring dreams of the darkest winter would leave him be. After relieving himself in the chamber pot, he washed up to rid himself of the last vestige of sleep. Once dressed he stepped outside and found that while the family wing was quiet, he could hear the faint sounds of early activities in the Keep.

The cooks and kitchen aids were likely awake already to bake and prepare the morning meal. He nodded at the two Stark guards who were stationed outside his door; they must have replaced Jaime sometime during the night to allow him some sleep. Jae knew well enough not to expect Jaime for at least few good hours. However, that didn't mean that he could shirk his duties as a squire, prince of the realm or not.

He strode along the corridors of the newly erected Keep, walked the stairs down and eventually made it to the front doors. Jae nodded to the sleepy-looking guards who bowed awkwardly before they hurriedly opened the doors for him. While he was certainly used to displays of deference, the guards were clearly not used to royalty in their midst.

As he reached the courtyard he beheld the magnificent towers, most of which were recently rebuilt. Out of twenty massive towers, only the three southernmost towers had withstood the passage of time. There they had plugged the causeway like a cork in a bottle for thousands of years. Jae made his way to the stables and noted that not even the stable boy was awake yet. He started to groom Jaime's brown courser who was nudging him softly as if begging for a treat.

Jaime had left his splendid black destrier at King's Landing. He had ridden it proudly when he had unhorsed Ser Barristan in the final tilt of the tourney last year, to the adoration of the crowds. He had proceeded to crown his twin sister the Queen of Love and Beauty, the seemingly perpetually sour Lady Lefford of the Golden Tooth, but even that hadn't seemed to bring a smile to her face.

Nevertheless, mother had told him in no uncertain terms that bringing the destrier north was a bad idea. Or more specifically, she had claimed "it was an idea so astonishingly stupid that only Jaime could have come up with it", he remembered amusedly. In the end Jaime had had no choice but to take her advice and procure a more suitable horse, bruised ego or not. Everyone knew that Queen Lyanna knew her horses and she obviously knew the North. And most people at court had become familiar by now with her sharp tongue.

Once done with Jaime's horse, he proceeded to take care of his own gray palfrey. The mare was complaisant as always, but must be getting on in age given the lack of energy it displayed. It probably explains why I had to force it to keep up with the pace Jaime set, he grumbled softly. Maybe mother had given it to him as a test, or perhaps even a joke. It wouldn't be unlike her. Mother was …mother. He was quite keen on seeing the lands that had shaped his lady mother into a woman so unlike any other that he had ever met. But thus far, only cousin Arya reminded him of her.

After he finished grooming the horses he went back inside to work on Jaime's armor and sword. Every speck of rust or dirt was to be removed until it was spot-free. Jaime would know as he inspected his equipment carefully every morning. It took another hour and once he was done Jae was quite famished. Hearing the sounds of a stronghold well and truly awake, he made his way to a private family dining room his uncle had shown him the day before.

As he entered the warm room, servants were already busy bringing trays of bacon dripping with fat and freshly baked coarse bread to the table where his uncle and cousins were already seated. His uncle nodded to him in greeting and said, "I hope you slept well, my prince. I suggest that we shall remain here for another day to allow you some rest before we ride for Winterfell. If it pleases you, of course, I know you had intended to stay for longer," he added.

Jae nodded in reply. "That was when I thought we would ride on to Winterfell alone with Ser Jaime, Lord Stark," he explained. "Even then, a week seemed a minimum for a visit with kin. Although I'll gladly take a day out of the saddle," he said with a grimace that made Arya giggle. Well, she was only seven. He sat down and took a plate and began to pile up the bacon.

Robb sat next to him and whispered conspiratorially, "Will you show us today what years of training under the Kingsguard can do, cousin?" While Robb sounded playful, there was a subtle hint of a challenge in his words. Clearly he didn't wish to be thoroughly outfought by his royal cousin, although he probably expected to lose their spars. Jae would have to strike a careful balance there, as he needed the respect of his kin but didn't think that humiliating the heir to Winterfell would endear him to them.

He caught himself as he recognized the prideful assumption that he was even capable of such a feat and wasn't simply underestimating his cousin. Hubris was hardly a trait he wished to cultivate, hard as it was to avoid given his royal title and heritage. "Aye, but mother always spoke proudly of northern warriors, saying it took ten Southrons to equal even one Northman. Perhaps I shall be the one taught a lesson," he finally said, trying to sound humble yet surely not convincing anybody. Humility, after all, did not come easily to dragons.

On second thought, the unmistakable pride and excitement in Bran's eyes at his words – and oddly enough in Arya's as well – bore witness to his hitherto unrecognized skills of persuasion. At least children fell for it. The Spider would be proud, he thought with a self-mocking smile.

"And we must train with the lance," Robb said still smiling broadly, seeming very excited at the thought. It seemed that smiling came easily to his auburn-haired cousin, something that likely wasn't going to hurt him with the ladies when he was fully grown.

"Aye, that we do, but I find that the sword holds a lot more interest for me than the lance," he shrugged. It was the truth, but he had still been drilled endlessly with the lance. "To defend the family honor", his father had replied when he asked what the bloody use was. In other words, for keeping up appearances of martial prowess, he thought sourly.

An hour later the sun had well and truly risen in the sky as Robb and Jae faced off in the sparring grounds with blunted longswords, wooden shields, halfhelms and padded armor. His uncle had joined a growing number of spectators such that Jae was very conscious of his performance. After a few tentative feelers he had decided that Robb was no slouch, but didn't hold a candle to Ser Jaime. Well, neither did Jae, but there was still a marked difference between them.

He focused on his footwork as he circled around Robb, looking for weaknesses in his cousin's defenses. Robb held himself well, leaving few openings, but at times he would overextend himself if Jae's movements became too fast. Jae deliberatively failed to take advantage several times, hoping that no one noticed.

They battled back and forth; swinging high and low, parrying and thrusting, coming in close and stepping out of reach, alternating offense and defense. Robb had greater strength, but Jae was faster. Fast enough to quickly sidestep Robb's strikes and pound on a quickly raised shield and retreat away from Robb's attempts to counter. Neither had landed a true hit on the other, but Jae saw the moment approach when he could end this without his cousin losing face.

After a few more rounds back and forth, Jae feinted left and quickly dove right and came up on one knee as he quickly struck out in a wide half-circle behind him. His sword hit Robb's back hard, who hadn't managed to turn in time to shield, and with a muffled cry his cousin fell before him. Jae quickly removed his helm and rushed over to his fallen opponent, but breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Robb's curses, "What the hell was that?"

He laughed softly in reply, "The first time I saw that move, Ser Arthur used it on Ser Arys Oakheart, to similar effect I might add. It's an unexpected move that is probably difficult to pull off more than once against someone, but I thought it unlikely you would see it coming."

Robb got back on his feet and smiled sheepishly, "I will definitely watch for it next time, cousin."

"It was a good spar, Robb. You're stronger and might have worn me out. I was glad to have a trick up my sleeve," Jae said loud enough for his voice to carry, while still seeming to speak to Robb only. The onlookers began to cheer and clap politely and Jae felt that he had accomplished his goal. As the crowds began to disperse, Jae noticed that Jaime had joined them. "Look, here comes our tutor for the day," he told Robb as he nodded towards the Kingsguard.

Robb who was already winded muttered another curse, but wore a determined expression on his face. Jae met Jaime's eyes quickly and gave him a subtle nod as an understanding seemed to pass between them. Jaime offered a small smile in return, and looked almost proud. Strange man.

When hours later Jaime finally decided they had enough of speed and balance drills, thrusts, lunges, strikes and parries until they could barely lift their arms, both Robb and Jae sank down on their knees, trying to catch their breaths. He had lost count on how often either he or Robb had puked, but found some comfort in the thought that their common experience, nay torture, would only serve to forge a bond between them.

"He's always been a sadistic arse," Jae muttered between painfully drawn breaths. For some reason Robb found it incredibly funny and soon they were both laughing so much it hurt even more.

Robb

After hours of sparring and brutal drills under Ser Jaime, Robb had a newfound respect for his royal cousin. At first he hadn't thought that the prince looked like much of a warrior, with his lean frame and delicate features, but he had quickly been disabused of that idea. Jae was so fast it was hard to even follow his movements at times, much less to counter on time. Either his cousin had been cautious, not knowing what Robb could do, or he had more likely held himself back in their initial spar.

If the latter, he had plenty of reason to be grateful as he wouldn't want to be made a fool of in front of father and his men. For if the was one thing Robb was sure of, it was that training under a Kingsguard was no laughing matter. He had never been as physically drained in his entire life and all he wanted was to lie down in bed until it was time to leave on the morrow.

As it was, the two of them lay side by side on the dirty training grounds with their eyes closed. "The midday meal should be soon," he told his cousin but received only an indecipherable grunt as acknowledgement he had been heard. "Mother will be upset if we don't wash before," he added, but made no attempt to get up.

He pitied Jae who probably had to go through such drills with some regularity. Robb had been determined not to be the first to falter, but right now he wasn't sure if his pride was truly worth it. Still, he was the Heir to Winterfell and had to meet not only his father's expectations, but also those of his uncle and lord grandfather. Looking like a Tully and being named after the Lord of Storm's End had forced Robb to try even harder to gain their approval. "House Redstark of Moat Cailin" as Uncle Brandon jokingly referred to them whenever they met, despite father's many attempts to explain what a poor jest that was.

He finally gathered whatever strength was left in his body and got up, first to sit and then after a moment's pause rose up on wobbly legs. Jae gave no sign that he intended to follow. He walked over to his cousin and grabbed him by the forearm. "Shall I tell Ser Jaime that his squire has given up on knighthood?" he teased.

"You're a cruel, unwashed northern barbarian, cousin. I think we shall not get along at all," Jae let out with a grunt, but took Robb's offered arm and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet.

Robb smiled at him but raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Is that what they call us down south?"

"Certainly not where my mother the Queen can hear them, if they value their hides," Jae smirked evilly. "But yes, some do think like that. Worshippers of trees, they say."

Robb gave him an astonished look. "They think we worship the trees?" Did they not realize that the weirwood trees are merely the means for the Gods to gaze upon the world? It must be because the Gods are blind down south and the Southrons cannot sense their presence.

"Most Southrons have never set foot in the North, and many have never even met northerners. They speak of what they don't know," said Jae.

Robb looked at him thoughtfully before he smiled, "In that case we must call the banners and ride south to educate the little Southron runts, as grandfather would say."

This earned him a laugh from his cousin. "Can I tell you a secret, Robb?" Jae asked softly. Upon his nod Jae continued, "I'm most wary of meeting Lord Stark. Whenever I try to picture him I think of the Kings of Winter of old, with a face frozen in disapproval; cold eyes giving his enemies frostbite with a mere look."

He found that he could relate to that, but trying to picture it was also quite amusing. Eventually he managed to reassure his cousin, "Oh not at all, Jae. Grandfather might be fearsome when he adorns the stern face of the Lord Stark. I've seen his bannermen go soft at the knees when he gazes upon them. Even the Lords Bolton and Umber cower before him. But fear not, our grandfather's good man. He will approve of you, and you will like him. Don't you worry."

Jae gave him a grateful nod. He seemed to shrug it off and his smile returned. "Come," he said. "Let's get ready for the midday meal. I feel like a starved beast, and you have the looks of one," Jae teased.

After the midday meal was over, Robb was called into his father's solar. The room was covered in books and all manners of parchment. Some were neatly piled, stacks held down by simple rocks, on the sole large desk at the furthermost corner of the room. Others were rolled up as scrolls, neatly gathered in a basket that hung from the wall next to father's chair. On the table Robb saw the Stark sigil in the shape of a direwolf, that father used to seal important messages, next to a red wax candle. Storm lay slumbering on a large bear skin at the center of the room.

As Robb entered the room, father looked up and greeted him with a smile. "Take a seat, lad," he bid him.

"Son, you made me proud today." Father leaned back in his chair; the familiar gray eyes seemed to study him for a moment. "You held yourself well against Prince Jaehaerys, despite his Kingsguard training. It was a bold and unexpected move he carried out towards the end. And I heard that Ser Jaime was exceedingly hard on you both, yet you did not complain or falter."

Robb's cheeks reddened slightly at the unexpected praise. "Thank you, Father."

"Your mother and I have spoken," father continued thoughtfully. "It has been decided that you remain at Winterfell when the rest of us return here. We expect you to make us proud as you carry out your duties as Brandon's heir."

Robb felt somewhat confused at this. "I know I was always meant to go and learn at Winterfell eventually, Father. How come you have decided I shall go already?"

"Ah, that is answered easily enough." Father tapped lightly with his fingers on his desk. "You seem to have developed a bond of friendship with the prince, even in such a short time. We are most pleased and wish to give you the opportunity to continue to train together, as well as attend the same lessons with Maester Luwin and Lord Stark. Nothing but good can come of being close to our future king." He paused for a moment. "We just thought it wrong to hold you back here when you could have a friend your own age. Besides, it would give you the opportunity to better know Lyarra and I'm sure you wouldn't mind that," father finished with a small wink.

Robb blushed slightly at the mention of his betrothed. She was rather pretty, looking like a young version of her mother as she did, but with Uncle Brandon's colors. They had played together as children on their occasional visits, and it was only recently when Robb had been named heir and their betrothal was announced that he had begun to take notice of her as a young woman.

Father must have seen how his thoughts drifted, for he added in a stern voice, "I trust that you will treat her honorably, son."

Robb blushed furiously and could only nod at his lord father, unable to meet his eyes. I will.

Eddard

Ned watched his son take his leave, still slightly red from the earlier embarrassment. He chuckled softly to himself, oh to be young again.

He was in fact more than pleased with Robb. He had always known that his son was an easy-going lad, well-liked by everyone and eager to please. He was in many ways an heir any father could be proud of, and he knew with absolute certainty that his Lord Father fully approved, despite his mutterings about Tully hair and eyes. Lord Rickard didn't truly mean anything by it, but age seemed to have lessened the constraints on his tongue.

With a deep sigh Ned rubbed his tired eyes and turned back to the many parchments in front of him. There were still letters to be sent before their departure on the morrow, not the least a first report to the King about his son's arrival and health. When he fostered at the Eyrie as a boy, he had been forced to listen to Robert's many and varied insults of the royal family. While he had found them inappropriate, and even dangerous, he knew Robert well and understood his bitterness at the loss of his parents on the King's bidding. And now Ned found himself with royal kin.

When he first heard the news that Rhaegar, as Prince-Regent, had asked for Lyanna's hand in marriage and that his lord father had acquiesced, he had almost choked on his ale. Ned recalled trying to broker a match between his sister and Robert, only to have his suggestion be summarily dismissed by his lord father. "A wolf should certainly not be handed over to an undignified Andal who worships crones, smiths, maidens and strangers, out of all things". He had hid that particular message well from both Lord Arryn and Robert.

Ned wondered if worshipping Fathers, mothers and warriors was deemed slightly more acceptable, and never mind that the Targaryens held to the same faith as the Baratheons, but he didn't dare to speak his mind. You don't refuse the Iron Throne. He supposed it really was as simple as that.

Jaime

Early next morning Jaime took up his post just behind Prince Jaehaerys as the long column of riders began to make its way out of the keep. Moat Cailin had certainly been a surprise. He barely comprehended the sheer size of this northern stronghold. Jaime had no doubt that even a small force, if determined, could hold off many times its number indefinitely. Without the ability to surround the Keep and cut off its supplies, a siege would be completely useless.

Small wonder the North was never truly threatened until the arrival of the dragons, he mused as he prodded his courser slightly with his knees. He had to admit to himself that he had been curious at this journey. While his sweet sister had raged at the indignity and perceived slight of being sent to the barbarian north for such a long time, Jaime found that he did not mind it at all. King's Landing was suffocating at times. Too many falsehoods; too much intrigue. Unlike the rest of his family he had no head for it.

Jaime fully expected to be able to see the vast expanses of the North, perhaps even ascend the Wall and go beyond it. Although the King would probably have his hide if he even thought of bringing the prince beyond the Wall. "I trust you with the future of this Realm, Ser Jaime," the King had told him solemnly. Jaime did not intend to disappoint the King. It was bad enough that he was a constant disappointment to his own lord father.

As they rode on, Jaime was glad to leave the last smell of the swamps behind him. It didn't smell as badly at the Moat, but it smelled enough to remind him of having had to endure the long ride through the Neck. He had to remember to take a ship when the eventually returned south.

He beheld the column of Stark men-at-arms and servants in their procession. These were hardy folks. Dressed simply in their wool and leather garments. Lord Eddard and his son Robb wore large wolf pelts over their shoulders, similar to the one that Prince Jae had been gifted upon departure. Jaime eyed the warmly clad men jealously. But he supposed he could acquire one easily enough if he wanted. He tried to picture himself wearing one as his father and sister greeted him. The image made him burst out in laughter.

"Something amuses you, Ser Jaime?" the prince asked.

Struggling to contain his mirth, Jaime merely shook his head before adding, "No, my prince, not really. Just a silly thought that struck me."

The prince seemed relaxed here among his northern kin in a way that Jaime rarely saw in King's Landing. He had taken to them immediately and had already started to speak like them, although thankfully without the heavy northern accent. It would be just his luck to return home in a few years with a Crown Prince who spoke like a true northerner. He shuddered at the thought.

He estimated that they had more than a hundred leagues to ride, which should take them between two and three weeks, depending on the pace that Lord Eddard set. Jaime was surprised to see that they had no wheelhouse for the ladies, not even for Lady Catelyn who was born a Tully. Cersei would certainly have demanded one to be spared the indignity of prolonged horseback riding. But Jaime found that he respected them for it. It spoke of capability.

"So Ser Jaime, what do you make of the northern kingdom?" Jae asked him as he pulled back slightly to make for a more comfortable conversation.

Jaime wasn't quite sure how to best answer. He had never been a diplomat, but offending the prince's kin was probably not the best idea. "It's vast, empty and quiet, my prince," he finally said.

"From you that was almost poetic," Jae laughed. "And its people?"

"I don't know... Stoic, hardy, plain."

"Plain are they, Ser Jaime?" There was a dangerous glint in the prince's eyes.

"Aye," Jaime said in an exaggerated manner. "It's difficult to focus on the fineries in life when you live at the very edge of civilization, braving the elements at every turn. No wonder the Stark words are so… prosaic," he continued cheekily, having ignored his earlier resolve to avoid causing offense.

Jae gave him a dark look, not looking pleased at all. "Tell me, my friend, did the Lannisters start saying a Lannister always pays his debt before or after the arrival of dragons making the lion's roar seem somewhat… shall we say, pitiful?"

Jaime chuckled in response to that. "That's a somewhat acceptable attempt, my prince. But let me give you a word of advice. A good insult cannot be forced like that. You have to let it flow naturally. Trust me on this."

The prince looked like he wanted to retort, but seemed to think better of it. After a few moments he harrumphed, "I suppose I shall have to take your word for it." And with that Jae kicked his horse and rode up to young Robb's side. Not everyone understands me, Jaime lamented before he laughed again and continued to inspect their surroundings. They had a long way to go before they reached Winterfell.