289 AC
The small rowboat moved as silently as possible through the calm water of the harbour. It's six passengers, too, were as quiet as the grave. Beside them, a veritable fleet of other small vessels, near sixty of them, rowed in identical silence.
It had been a simple thing to leave the safety of their bigger longships and slip by the coastal defences and watchtowers of this port city. The sentries placed there had been lax; the Greenlanders had forgotten the old ways and grown complacent.
The anchored ships around them rocked slightly in the cool, blue ocean water. The various ropes and sails swayed and rustled in the soft breeze, and the occasional shout or laughter could be heard from the shoreline, though all else was quiet. It was a moonless night, the suffocating darkness seemingly seeping into every nook and crevasse, though a few stars could be seen twinkling high above where mortal men could not reach. Somewhere, far off, an owl hooted.
Victarion Greyjoy raised his armoured fist and brought it down slowly on the wooden side of his rowboat.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Despite keeping the sound as quiet as possible, all heard his signal. Gradually, the other rowboats began to break off from the main grouping, all headed for their intended target.
Victarion's craft kept straight, as was planned, making for the largest ship before them.
The Lion's Might was a colossal dromond. A triple-decked war galley of some two hundred and fifty oars, Lord Tywin's flag ship dwarfed the other vessels around it. Its wood was polished to perfection, so much so that it almost gleamed in the low starlight, and its lion figurehead rose above the deck proudly, it's painted face drawn back in a roar. Victarion couldn't begin to guess how high the thing was. The Ironborn preferred smaller, swifter ships than bulky monstrosities such as this.
At his hushed command, his rowboat and two others pulled up alongside the huge ship's port side.
Behind him some fool coughed, and Victarion turned to glare at him with murderous intensity. They couldn't afford for anything to go wrong, not in this first strike of the war.
"Now," Victarion whispered harshly to his men.
Immediately, the men on his and the two other rowboats began their work.
With grappling hooks and climbing ropes, several men scaled the side of the war ship with a rapidness that spoke of how important their mission was, despite the armour weighing them down. It took several agonizing minutes, and more than a few uneasy moments, but, finally, the men reached the top. As soon as they arrived atop the deck the signal was sent down and the men left on the boats brought forth barrels of pitch from the depths of the rowboat. As quick as was possible, they tied the barrels to the ends of the rope securely and soon the barrels were being hefted up to the top deck of the Lion's Might.
Victarion watched it all with keen eyes. Soon the Iron Fleet would have no rival in all the Sunset Sea.
From above he heard the splashing that could only mean his men had gotten the barrels open and were now coating the deck with the flammable liquid.
"We're all done up here, milord," one of his seasoned reavers called down to him, half a minute later.
"Then get down here," Victarion growled back, casting an anxious eye towards the flickering lights of Lannisport. "And be quiet about it. Sound carries over water."
It took longer for the men to climb down. Somehow, they had lost sight of the rope in the darkness, and Victarion mentally cursed their stupidity. Finally, after much hushed words and an ecstasy of fumbling atop the side of the dromond, they found it and began the climb down, in excruciatingly pondering and slow movements.
Victarion couldn't help the sense of satisfaction that came over him when the last man had arrived back in the boats. No alarm had been raised, which meant the other boats had been just as successful. He was the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet and these were his men, under his command and following his orders. It might be Euron's plan, but he'd be the one to carry it out.
Praying to the Drowned God that all the others were in position, Victarion lit his torch quickly with an iron dagger and a flint stone. It caught and within the blink of an eye, he had bright, flaming torch grasped in his hand. He took a slow, calming breath, lifting the torch up and in front of him. He waited several moments for the other boats to see, then stood up, the small boat swaying beneath him.
With a savage grin, he threw the torch with all his might. He traced its progress with his eyes as it arced up and over the side of the Lion's Might.
Within minutes the Lannisport fleet was burning.
o-O-o
"Keep your lance straight to the last, Robar!" Ser Samwell shouted to his mounted squire. "You're letting it dip below the waist when you get close to the target. Hold it steady."
"Aye, Ser Samwell," Robar panted, readying for another charge at the wooden target twenty yards away from him.
Jasper stood a little back with Osric and Hector, watching his best friend joust.
Four years as a squire to Lord Royce had served the prince well. With the classical Baratheon looks of bright blue eyes and coal black hair, which he wore short but messy, he was a handsome youth. High cheekbones and smooth cheeks filled his face, though baby fat still lingered at the edges of his comely face. Taller than any of his friends, even Osric and Hector who were both older than he, his broad shoulders demonstrated his muscle. Lord Yohn had proclaimed on many occasions that he was a young Robert reborn, though more sinewy than brawny, and this was clear to any who looked upon him.
"Come on, Robar," Osric called merrily, "surely you can hit the target at least once today!"
"As if you did any better," scoffed Hector. "It took you a half hour to hit the thing three times. He's only been at it for half of that."
"And you're a year older." Jasper added.
"At least I hit the damn thing!" Osric exclaimed, though his voice was still more teasing than cruel.
Robar gave no response but a grunt before urging his grey mount into a charge. Jasper watched closely as Robar's form held true, his tourney lance held firmly in an iron grip as the young Royce got closer. The blunted end of the lance hit the plain wooden board with a loud twang, glancing of its right side.
The three young squires watching clapped their friend's success, even Osric, though Ser Samwell wasn't impressed.
"Better, but barely," he commented as Robar rode up beside him. "A weak hit, glancing at best."
"I'll do better this time, Ser," Robar vowed, already preparing to ride at the target again.
"I'm afraid not." Ser Samwell said, waving Jasper, Osric and Hector closer. "I must assist Ser Desmond with the new recruits. You have the rest of the day to yourselves. Think on what I have told you and be ready to go again tomorrow."
With a nod to the four of them the burly knight left, marching off in the direction of the barracks.
"Why are my arms so bloody weak?" Robar despaired dramatically, once Ser Samwell was out of sight. The young Royce slid off his horse, letting a groom grab the reins and lead it towards the stables. "I can barely hold it up long enough to charge properly in the right position, let alone make it to the target," he said once he'd walked up to them.
"You're not the only one," Jasper consoled him. "My arms still burn from my training, even now."
"Yes, but you hit nearly every time!" Robar cried, as the group began the slow trudge up stone steps to the main holdfast of Runestone.
"He's right, Jasper," Osric patted him on the back mockingly. "We can't all be as brilliant and skilled and valiant-"
"Shup up, Wayn," Jasper rolled his eyes.
"Hey, it's not just me," Osric grinned in response. "What was it Lord Royce said the other week? A natural talent?"
Jasper shifted a little uncomfortably.
"I'm not that good." He replied.
All three of his companions turned to look at him sceptically.
"Okay, I'm pretty good," Jasper allowed. "But so are all of you."
It was true. Hector was his equal with a lance and Osric beat him with blunt weapons any day of the week. Though they were right in terms of swordplay, he supposed. He was a natural swordsman, even being able to defeat most of the guards and household knights in Runestone more oft than not, though victory against Ser Samwell and Lord Yohn still eluded him.
The others let the matter drop.
They entered the now familiar halls of Runestone still sweaty from their practice. There they said their brief goodbyes and split up, Robar and Jasper heading off toward the top of the south tower, where Lord Royce, his family and Jasper had their quarters and the other two towards their lodgings in the east wing.
As they walked in companionable silence, Jasper thought back happily on his last four or so years in the Vale.
Despite his initial reservations it had turned out to be a great experience, as Ser Cortnay and the rest of the Storm's End councillors had promised him it would be what seemed like a lifetime ago. He'd become instant friends with Robar, Osric and Hector and when Waymar had been sent to page for Lady Whent of Harrenhal- Lord Yohn had obviously noticed the animosity between his youngest son and the other boys- they had just gotten closer, free of such a negative influence. Ser Andar had quickly become like an older brother to Japer in the absence of his real brothers; they all wrote to him, Robert less than Stannis and Renly, but it wasn't the same, so he'd focused on building up friendships with people he could physically talk to. Not only had he made friends in Runestone but across the Vale through the various tourneys and feasts he'd attended as Lord Yohn's squire. Creighton Redfort, his younger brother Jon and Ser Roland Waynwood were just a few of those young Valemen he now called friend.
He said goodbye to Robar at the door to his chambers and entered his room to find a warm bath already waiting for him, as was the norm after a training session. As long as you were friendly and gracious with them, the servants of the castle performed such actions without being asked.
After bathing and dressing in the livery of House Royce, he made his way to Lord Yohn's personal barracks and set about finishing his usual chores for the Lord. He and Hector had cleaned the Lord of Runestone's mail and plate that morning, but he still had to polish the man's huge great sword, which was almost as tall as Jasper himself. As always it took well over an hour of hard work to wash and wipe the sword all over, from sharp point to rune-inlaid hilt.
By the time it was over it was time for the evening meal. Jasper knew that he was expected to sup with Lord Yohn and the other Royces that evening, as it was the last day of the month. This was a rare occurrence; usually he would eat with Osric, Hector, other squires and household knights, while the Royce family dined together.
He headed to the main feasting hall, which was thankfully on a floor below, and found most of the guests already there. Lord Yohn sat at the head of the table with Lady Falena to his left, the older woman, who'd become something of a replacement mother for him, granting him a kind smile as he entered. To Lord Yohn's right sat his heir, Ser Andar, and his wife, the Lady Barbara Waxley. Robar was sat next to her, with Ysilla on the opposite side in between Lady Falena and Leobald Tollett. Rowena was the only Royce not there, other than Waymar, having married Lord Theomar Melcolm just last year. Hector, Osric, Septon Lucos, Ser Samwell and Ser Desmond were also arrayed around the table, while household knights, minor nobles and even some regular man-at-arms, more than was usual, were seated at smaller tables lower down in the hall. Servants rushed from table to table, carrying jugs of wine and trays of appetisers.
"Your father has invited half the castle it seems. Truly, this is a small feast," Jasper told Robar as he took the empty seat next to him, nodding to those others around the table.
"Indeed," Robar agreed as he fiddled idly with a butter knife. "I've no clue why."
"A reward for loyal service? A reminder, or warning, of who rules Runestone? Possibly even to clear out extra food supplies about to spoil," Jasper shrugged. "Who knows, with your lord father."
"You may be right. Though I am glad of it, really," Robar grimaced. "Usually my father and mother spend most of the meal talking with Andar and Barbara. That leaves me with Ysilla and, trust me when I say this, Jasper, my sister is a complete bore."
"Ysilla's nice," Jasper said, half-heartedly. "And she is your sister."
"Are you kidding?" Robar snorted. "All she speaks about is the latest singer to visit court… and you."
Jasper shifted uncomfortably; he was not unaware of the younger girl's affection for him. It was just a girlhood crush, so he put little thought to it.
"Shall it be pigeon pie again today, do you think? Or perhaps those rabbits Lesley caught this morning? I could do with some fresh game," Jasper said lightly, switching topics none too subtly if the twinkle in Robar's eye was anything to go by.
Thankfully the second Royce son didn't comment on his slightly cowardly attempt at a conversation change.
"The rabbits, hopefully," he said instead. "I can't stand to eat another bloody pigeon pie. You'd think it was all Freila could make, the old cow."
Jasper tilted his head in silent agreement, his mouth quirking in amusement at the same time.
"Enjoy your polishing duties, Jasper?" Osric called over suddenly from the opposite side of the table, breaking through their conversation.
"Very much so," Jasper replied amiably, as he turned to face the smirking squire. "It does wonders for my wrist and arm strength, making our future spars even easier for myself."
As Hector, sat beside Osric, and Robar chortled, Osric flashed a cocky grin.
"I have other ways to build up wrist strength, my prince."
"No doubt," Jasper smiled lazily back, as Hector snorted and Robar hid his choking laughs behind his hands. "I'm surprised your right hand hasn't already broken off from over use."
Osric simply winked in reply.
"Aye, any day now," Hector laughed. "Honestly, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you, Jasper. Lord Yohn had me running messages down to the weaponsmiths."
"It's fine," Jasper waved a dismissive hand. "I rather enjoy it, actually. It's calming."
"True," Robar agreed. "I find the same when tending to Ser Samwell's weapons and armour."
"You're bloody mental," Osric shook his head in apparent bafflement. "I swear there's nothing more boring in all Westeros than polishing. Polishing, honestly!"
"It's your own fault," Hector chided him. "You can barely sit still for more than a minute."
Osric had just set his features into an expression of righteous indignation when Lord Yohn raised his voice and addressed the four of them, quietening their table.
"I trust you four caused no trouble today?" Lord Yohn eyed them with a raised eyebrow. "I want no repeats of the lemon cake incident."
The four of them dipped their heads as one in a sheepish manner, as the rest of the table looked on them with either disapproval, in the cases of Lord Yohn, Ser Samwell, Lady Barbara, Ysilla and Leobald Tollett, or amusement, such as with Lady Falena, Andar, Septon Lucos and Ser Desmond.
Jasper did his best not to look at his fellow accomplices, for fear of cracking up with laughter at the memory. A few moons ago they'd laced a tray of lemon cakes with a concoction from Maester Helliweg that was used to help… move the bowels. Ysilla, Barbara, their handmaidens and even Lord Yohn himself had all eaten one before the affects had kicked in and it was realised the cakes had been tampered with. They'd had to help the grooms muck out the stables every day for a fortnight as punishment, but to Jasper it had still been worth it.
"No, father," Robar was the one who spoke up eventually, playing the dutiful son. "We have been most industrious in our lessons, training and chores."
"I'm sure," Lord Yohn said wryly. "Ser Samwell, do you attest?"
"Mostly, my lord," Ser Samwell nodded curtly. "We worked on the lance all afternoon. Jasper and Hector showed their prowess once more and Osric and Robar made palpable improvements. Though I fear sometimes they do not take it seriously enough. Jokes and mockeries are all well and good, but one must make sure it does not detract from their training."
"I see," Lord Yohn stroked his bearded chin. "Listen to Ser Samwell, boys. Heed his words. Someday they may save your life."
The four of them murmured their agreement.
"Relax, father," Andar leant back in his chair. "I was just the same at that age. What is life without a good jape or two?"
"I'm not so sure. I don't remember you being so… wilful at that age, husband," Lady Barbara said primly, a playful glint in her eyes. "As malleable as wax you were."
"My lady!" Andar's tone was teasing. "Are you saying I was impressionable? Was I so easily led?"
"You were," Lady Barbara smiled cheerfully. "Why, I had you wrapped round my little finger."
"Betrayed by my own wife!"
"I shall be kind and call it dutiful, then, if you are so hurt by it," the daughter of the Lord of Wickenden said with a roll of the eyes.
"Anyway," Lady Falena's soft voice interrupted her son and his wife's harmless mocking, "there is nothing wrong with some light-hearted fun during youth dear husband, Ser Samwell. They won't always be boys. Best enjoy it while they can."
"I couldn't agree more, my lady!" Septon Lucos pitched in, his wide grin displaying yellowed teeth. "We were all young once and it's hardly impacted their development. The lads make sure their chores are done, and all excel in martial pursuits. Their lessons too, I know."
Jasper couldn't help but smile. Septon Lucos could always be counted on to back them up. He'd been the one to steal the shit-inducing potion- as Osric had named it- from the Maester's chambers.
"Perhaps it is best to ask Maester Helliweg that directly," Leobald Tollett said, dourly. While not an unkind man, the uncle to the current Lord Tollett was determined, almost to the point of obsession, in serving Lord Yohn as best he could. He was also not known for having fun.
"And I will do that, after he is done attending to the rookery," Lord Yohn assured the steward.
As the Lord of Runestone finished speaking the food was finally brought in, trays upon trays of it carried to each table by buxom serving girls.
Pigeon pie.
Robar groaned to look upon the food and Jasper couldn't help but laugh, though he did offer his friend a consoling pat on the back as reassurance for his plight.
All looked to the Lord of Runestone for permission to begin the meal, which he gave without ceremony.
"Tuck in!" Lord Yohn called to the whole hall, cheerfully. Laughs and toasts followed and soon the large room was filled with sound of cutlery scraping on plates and loud chewing of pie.
As they began to eat talk turned to lighter topics. Jasper spoke to his friends of their planned blunt weapons training in full plate scheduled for tomorrow, which Osric was relishing, before Lord Yohn and Lady Falena shared with them some recent news; some minor lord from the fingers had been given control of all customs at Gulltown; Lord Duncan Pryor had married Ursula Lynderly, apparently a surprise match; Lord Elmar Costayne's young heir, Tommen, had apparently been caught up in a scandal concerning the young daughter of a landed knight sworn to his father. None of this mattered to Jasper, but he listened dutifully, as was expected of him.
It only got more interesting when Lord Yohn cajoled Ser Samwell into telling them a few tales from when he had been a sellsword in the employ of the Stormbreakers. The stories were watered down because of the ladies present, but to hear about Essosi battle tactics was fascinating nonetheless.
The jovial atmosphere was shattered by the hurried entrance of Maester Helliweg, who entered from a side door and headed straight for Lord Yohn, a scrap of parchment in his hand. The Maester attempted to be discreet about it, walking quietly with his head down, but one by one the men within the hall noticed the Maester's entrance and turned to look at Helliweg present Lord Yohn with the message, a worried look on his pinched face. If the Maester had disrupted dinner to bring Lord Yohn the message it had to be important.
Jasper watched with curiosity as Lord Yohn read the message calmly, the hall almost silent now. It seemed an agonizingly long time before the Lord of Runestone looked up and gazed on the many faces looking at him from around the hall.
"News from the West," Lord Yohn announced, his full voice carrying across the hall. "Balon Greyjoy, who now styles himself King of the Iron Islands, has raised his banners in rebellion. His brothers launched a surprise night assault on Lannisport, burning the Lannister fleet to ash, and Ironborn ships have been sighted across the western shores of Westeros."
Murmurs swept the hall and Jasper shared a shocked look with Robar.
Lord Yohn Royce stood, his commanding presence immediately silencing the whispers.
"We are at war."
o-O-o
Runestone had descended into bedlam.
The clamour of metal on metal rang loudly across the main courtyard, as weapons and armour smiths toiled in their craft, determined to outfit Lord Yohn's levies that had already begun to gather outside the walls. Servants bustled about carrying weapons, armour, food and other supplies. Guards marched past, some tasked with watching the peasant levies, others with the supervision of the other preparations. Knights, whether they be household knights that had served Lord Yohn for years or newly arrived hedge knights, watched it all with a superior eye, or else rode against each other with practice lances at the lists. Though, Jasper thought idly, there would be little, if any, cavalry charges in this war. Navy clashes, minor skirmishes and siege warfare were what this foolish rebellion would amount to, according to Lord Yohn and Jasper believed him.
And a foolish rebellion it was. Ever since Lord Yohn had shared the news, Jasper couldn't help but linger on that thought. Why would Balon Greyjoy do this? Was he mad?
"This war will be a slaughter." Jasper couldn't help but voice his internal thoughts aloud.
"I can't help but think the same," Hector agreed from beside him, as they both leant back against the wall, watching the courtyard fervour.
It was their first free time in three days, having been busy helping Lord Yohn prepare. Robar was elsewhere in the castle, attending to Ser Samwell as the old knight outfitted the peasant levies and gave them a basic training crash course, and Osric was several miles away with Ser Andar, who had been tasked with helping Lord Tollett gather his forces. That left Jasper and Hector alone and with the training yard occupied by a slew of knights, they'd decided to just take a break and watch the mayhem unfold.
"Is Balon Geyjoy suicidal?" Jasper asked, incredulous. "One kingdom against the rest. He stands no chance."
"True," Hector conceded, "but it isn't quite one kingdom against the rest. Dorne certainly won't send men. At least nothing extensive, just a few ships to keep up appearances, most likely."
"I suppose," Jasper nodded, begrudgingly. "And I doubt those houses who held loyal to the Targaryens during the rebellion will send their full strength, but…"
"… it will still be a bloodbath," Hector concluded for him.
"I suppose his plan will be to use his naval advantage to make sure no armies land on his shores," Jasper scratched his head. "Though he can't really expect to stop every fleet at once, as it's likely we will launch a several pronged invasion at once, even if most of our ships would be transport vessels. The Iron Fleet can't be in two places at once."
"But does King Robert have enough ships for such an invasion?" Hector wondered aloud. "That would've been the point of burning Lord Lannister's ships at anchor."
"I guess you could be right…" Jasper sighed. "We'll have to go through the Iron Fleet, then."
"Or your brother does," Hector reminded him. "He commands the Royal Fleet, does he not?"
"He does, as Master of Ships."
"Do you think he can do it? Defeat the Iron Islanders on the sea?"
Jasper thought of Stannis, strong-willed and no-nonsense, and nodded firmly.
"Yes, I trust him," he said. "I think he'll win, even against the Ironborn."
"Let's hope so," Hector sighed.
As Jasper frowned, thinking of the daunting task ahead of Stannis, another one of Lord Yohn's household knights, Ser Garret Roote, rode through the gates at the head of a column of bleary-eyed serfs. Ser Garret was just one of the men tasked with scouring the Lord of Runestone's lands looking for able-bodied young men, several hundred of whom had already been gathered.
"They look so…" Jasper struggled to find the right word. "… unprepared."
"They're peasants," Hector pointed out, as if it were obvious, "what did you expect? Hardened soldiers in full plate?"
"No," Jasper rolled his eyes. "But, come on… they're clothed in little more than rags and have probably never held a weapon in their life."
"That's what Ser Samwell is working on."
"He won't get them ready- we march in a week," Jasper argued. "There's not enough time or equipment."
"Why do you care so much?" Hector asked, taking a sip from his waterskin.
"Well, how do we expect them to go up against any prepared Ironborn reaver?" said Jasper. "They'll be slaughtered. They need proper training, decent equipment-"
"They don't," Hector said, exasperated. "And they won't be slaughtered. The Ironborn levies will be just as ill-prepared and we have knights," he knocked Jasper's arm playfully. "Stop worrying so much."
The frown creasing Jasper's face eased, if only slightly.
"Aye… you're right, of course," Jasper shook his head, dispelling the grand plans that had formed in his head.
"I have my moments."
"Yes, as few and far between as they are," Jasper laughed, as Hector pouted. "They are more frequent than Osric's, if that comforts you."
"It does not," Hector replied simply, with a sardonic twist of the mouth.
Jasper smiled.
The late afternoon sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting long, dark shadows across the courtyard's paving stones. As the sun descended, the chilly Vale winds cooled even further, and a slight gloom appeared, blanketing them in hazy darkness. In response torches and lamps were lit, and many of the present knights retreated indoors, headed for the feasting hall, fresh ale and a warm meal. Hector followed them after a quick goodbye, though Jasper thought it far more likely he was seeking out a certain serving girl, Merrell. They only had a week before marching off to war, after all.
Things far from calmed in the courtyard, however, as the servants and guards continued in their labour; they were not so free from duties as the household knights.
"Jasper."
He blinked, whipping his head away from the working staff to find Lord Yohn Royce himself approaching.
"My lord," Jasper scrambled to stand up straight. "Have you need of me?"
"No, lad. You've done enough for today, at least. You can relax," he said, with dry amusement. He tilted his head to the side. "Walk with me."
Jasper followed his mentor up jagged stone steps to the walk way that ran along the top of Runestone's strong walls, passing many flustered servants and guards who still took the time to stop and bow for their liege lord. The two of them walked along the side of the high parapet, past arrow holes and jutting merlons. Lord Yohn came to a stop halfway along the wall and stepped forward to lean against the top of it. Jasper kept slightly back with his hands clasped behind his back respectfully.
"Was there something you wished to talk about, my lord?" Jasper asked, after a few moments of silence.
"Aye," Lord Yohn sighed. "You are a prince of the Iron Throne, Jasper. Brother to a king, a lord paramount and another lord, who is a small council member also. You will one day be given your own, likely substantial, lordship, or else serve some other purpose for the realm. A Kingsguard, perhaps- you have the skills for it, that is clear enough already. And, most importantly, you are rather high up in the line of succession. Do you see what I'm trying to say?"
"Truthfully, no, my lord." Jasper shook his head, confused.
"It is expected that I not allow you, as a prince, to take part in any major fighting," Lord Yohn explained to him. "That was heavily implied when I took you on to foster, and it has been further hinted at in my correspondence with King's Landing and Storm's End. I can only imagine that will be even further reinforced now that we're actually at war."
It took several seconds for him to understand what Lord Yohn was saying but when the words had sunk in his eyes widened and he felt the anger boiling his stomach instantly. Was he going to be left at Runestone, or just at the back of the army, never to see combat? Who wanted this- Lord Arryn, the queen, Stannis? It didn't sound like Robert. Whoever it was didn't matter; only that it was completely unfair.
"Y-You can't be serious!" Jasper cried, loud enough to gain looks from those guards patrolling near them.
Lord Yohn did not answer, so Jasper railed on.
"Am I to stay here?" he demanded, furiously. "With the women and children and old men? Shall I learn needles and stitches with Ysilla, too?"
"Do not take that tone with me, boy," Lord Yohn warned him. "You shall do as I command, whatever that is. You're my squire."
"Aye, I'm your squire," Jasper agreed with heat, "I go where you go, to fight all your battles alongside you. I'm not a coward!"
"I never said you were, but you're are a prince of the blood, Jasper," Lord Yohn said sternly. "The king's own brother."
"I'm fourth in line!" Jasper exclaimed. "And that's if Robert doesn't have another son, Stannis too. He's married now. I'm hardly ever going to sit the throne."
"That's not the point, lad."
"But it is, isn't it?" Jasper said. "That's the only reason I'd be held back, but it doesn't make any sense. Andar's your heir and he's going. So is Osric, and he's his father's heir."
"They're not royalty," Lord Yohn reminded him. "The rules are different for you."
"It's unfair!"
"It's the way it is, complaining does not help," Lord Yohn said, his tone scolding.
"So, what are you going to do with me?" Jasper asked, in haughty defiance.
"I'm not sure," Lord Yohn admitted. "I've received no direct commands on the topic. I was considering bringing you anyway, and to the seven hells with the consequences, until you're rather immature reaction just now."
Jasper's cheeks turned pink. He rallied for one last appeal.
"My lord, I swear to the Old Gods and the New I will follow your commands in everything, should you allow me to join you." Jasper vowed. "I'll work my fingers to the bone for you. I'll polish your arms and armour every night, so hard that it gleams in the morning. I'll clean and fed your horse, set up your tent and fight beside you. Please, my lord, I'm ready. I can do this."
Lord Yohn regarded him carefully with sharp eyes, grey as a stormy sky. Then, he nodded.
"Aye, lad," Lord Yohn said. "You're as natural a swordman as I've ever seen, and you've been more than an able squire. I won't take this away from you, not when the other boys are going. But no foolish heroics, understand? You're twelve, not a seasoned killer."
"I understand, my lord," Jasper promised, excitement coursing through him. "I promise I won't disappoint you."
"Be sure you don't," Lord Yohn said, before his face softened. He waved his arm at the young prince. "Come on, join me. You don't have to stand so far back."
Gingerly, Jasper stepped forward to join Lord Yohn at the front edge of the wall. Below them scores of campfires and hastily constructed tents spread out from the castle, creating a small city of canvas and spitting fires. Hundreds of dark shadows sat around the campfires, as others moved from tent to tent, many likely drunk from the dazedness of their movements.
"How many have arrived now?" Jasper asked the lord.
"Near five hundred," Lord Yohn told him. "We should have more than a thousand by the time we march next week. We'll have some two thousand when merged with that of my bannermen."
Jasper whistled, but Lord Yohn frowned.
"In truth I'd hoped for more," Lord Yohn said. "I could raise a further thousand given another week, but time is of the essence. We must meet up with the other Vale lords at the Bloody Gate, then march to Seagard as soon as possible."
"It's still a respectable number," Jasper reasoned. "How goes Ser Samwell's outfitting?"
"As well as can be expected," Lord Yohn shrugged. "The men at arms and knights will be finely equipped, the peasants less so. Some will get some rusted mail, and most should receive some sort of weapon, though it won't be castle forge steel most of the time. I simply don't have enough smiths. Other than that, we're about as prepared as you can be for war."
Silence settled between them, Lord Yohn seemingly resigned to contemplation.
The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally Jasper asked, "What was your first war, my lord?"
The Lord of Runestone huffed a rumbling chuckle.
"Depends, I suppose," he said, pulling at his grey beard. "I remember seeing my father off for the War of the Ninepenny Kings, though I was just a young boy then, younger than Ysilla, even. My first taste of battle wasn't until a decade after that. A great culling of the mountain clans, the scouring they called it, had been called by the great lords of the Vale. The clans had become too… adventurous in the years preceding, attacking towns and villages across the Vale. The entire chivalry of the Vale and beyond, more than five hundred knights and freeriders, gathered for a grand campaign. I was a young knight then, only recently having earnt my spurs, and hungry for glory. We saw less combat than expected, though."
Lord Yohn hawked and spat over the wall, his face twisting in disgust.
"The cursed wildlings slunk back into the valleys and hills, like the cowards they were," Lord Yohn snarled. "We caught a group of Redsmiths in a trap and slew them to a man, then managed to hunt down the Painted Dogs' main camp and burned it, capturing many of them. But that was as far as we could get after months of campaign."
"So that doesn't really count as a war," Jasper guessed.
"No," Lord Yohn agreed. "That just leaves your brother's rebellion. My first full scale war. And last, until this one- if it counts."
Jasper nodded; he'd all about the rebellion from Lord Yohn before. The great siege of Gulltown, the chaotic skirmishing within the city of Stoney Sept and the decisive battle at the Trident, he'd heard it all. He'd even told of the aftermath of the sack of King's Landing, though Lord Yohn usually didn't like to talk about that.
"I don't think this war will be quite to that scale," Jasper said.
"No, it won't." Lord Yohn acknowledged. "But it will be war nonetheless, and that means blood. You said you were ready, Jasper, but are you really? Think about it for a moment. Could you take another man's life, a man with parents and siblings, wives and children? Can you kill?"
"Yes," Jasper said, after a moment, sounding surer than he felt.
"We shall see, lad," Lord Yohn looked at him closely. Was that pity in his gaze? "We shall see."