Hours after the first ships had been rammed and the first clash of sword on sword had rung out, men were still screaming. Their desperate, wailing tones carried clearly across the water to where Davos was stood on the deck of Lord Stannis's flagship, Fury. All about him boys were scrubbing the bloody deck clean, or else throwing corpses overboard.
Peering in the evening light, Davos could just make out his own ship, Black Betha, a few hundred paces away, lolling uneasily in the weak Fair Isle current. Most other ships in the royal fleet were in similar states; many had been damaged and so saw to repairs, but also to their wounded and dead. Many women had been made windows on this day, Davos thought dourly.
In truth, the outcome had been decided as soon as Victarion Greyjoy had sailed into Stannis's trap. Whilst the Iron Fleet had been trapped in the channel between Fair Isle and the mainland, Stannis had meet them from the south, whilst Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor had descended on the Ironborn from the north. The Ironborn had fought long and they'd fought hard, Victarion himself even managed to smash his way through Lord Redwyne's battle line and save his own ship and several others before the gap was plugged, but the majority of the once mighty Iron Fleet was captured or had been left lying on the bottom of the sea. With one tactical masterstroke Lord Stannis had crippled Balon Greyjoy's naval capabilities, the true source of his power.
"Ser Davos?" Davos turned to see Stannis's squire, Erren Florent, blinking up at him. The boy had been named the Lord of Dragonstone's squire after his sister, Selyse, had married Lord Stannis just a year and a half ago. "Lord Stannis will see you now."
Erren led him across the wide deck and pointed to the door leading to the captain's quarters, just as Ser Hendrick Taylor, captain of the Lord Lyonel, came out of it. Ser Hendrick was a short, stout man, with a merry personality but he was also one of the most capable captains in the royal fleet.
"Ser Davos!" Ser Hendrick grinned jovially. "Glad to see your still in one piece, old boy. Tough sons of bitches those iron-fuckers are, eh?"
"They are," Davos smiled, "But not a match for Lord Stannis, it seems."
"Ha! Too right." Ser Hendrick lifted his right hand to show Davos the red-dyed skin proudly. "Can't seem to scrub the blood out! What about you, Davos? Get a few of the fuckers yourself?"
"One or two, aye," Der Davos shifted uncomfortably. He'd never relished killing the way career soldiers like Ser Hendrick did.
"Did you hear we got Balon's brother?" Ser Hendrick asked, his eyes twinkling with a cruel glee.
"I had thought Victarion escaped."
"No, not him!" The other man rolled his eyes. "The younger one. Aaron or something."
"Aeron."
"That's the one," Ser Hendrick grinned, rubbing his weathered hands together. "Apparently, after Lord Stannis and the Fury had smashed his longship to bits, he tried to flee through that gap Victarion made in a little rowboat, but Lord Hewett caught the bastard in the attempt. Who knew a Reachman could be so competent? Lord Hewett seems so bloody useless most of the time I think it even caught Lord Redwyne by surprise. Ha!"
Davos frowned, knowing it was not his place to criticise a highborn lord.
"Well, I should get back to my own ship," Ser Hendrick sighed. "You hear to give your report? Best not keep Lord Stannis waiting, my dear Onion Knight!"
Davos nodded goodbye and entered the captain's quarters. It was furnished plainly, as was typical with Lord Stannis. A simple bed, covered with grey sheets and northern furs, sat secluded in the far corner, a small lit lamp hanging next to it. A few chests and a dresser, presumably containing all the belongings Stannis had brought with him from Dragonstone, were stacked unceremoniously against one wall. The only other object in the dimly lit room was a sturdy wooden desk, bolted into the wooden floorboards. There Ser Davos Seaworth's lord sat.
Lord Stannis looked up as he came in. "Ser Davos," he nodded once, "do sit."
Davos took the lone seat opposite where Lord Stannis sat with a grim expression etched on to his hard face. Erren took a place at Lord Stannis's back discreetly.
"How fares your ship and men, Ser?" Stannis asked once Davos was settled.
"No major damages, my lord. Only a few men dead and perhaps a score wounded, too."
Stannis grunted and made a quick note on a piece of parchment in front of him, before looking up and regarding the knight before him unrelentingly for several long moments. Davos was used to such uncomfortable silences and waited for the Lord of Dragonstone to comment.
"We make for Seagard in the morning, Ser Davos," Stannis told him, with the usual iron beneath his low tone, "Will your ship be prepared? Have you enough crewmen?"
Davos started. "I do m'lord… but…"
Stannis narrowed his flinty eyes and made an impatient gesture with his hand. "What is it you want to say, Ser? Be quick, I have a score more captains to see."
"Black Betha is seaworthy, pardon the jape, m'lord, but I would not have thought many others would be, particularly those in Lord Redwyne's centre." Davos scratched his scraggily beard furtively. "They took quite a hit, if you don't mind my saying so."
Stannis grunted. "Aye. I told that idle ginger fool Redwyne he needed to shore up his centre, but did he listen?" Stannis shook his head. "Regardless, it doesn't change our plans. Lord Celtigar will command those who need urgent repairs. They'll be making for Faircastle Port as soon as the wind changes." Stannis ground his teeth together. "We must make for Seagard as soon as the sun rises on the morrow. My brother's orders were clear."
"As you say, my lord."
"I do."
Stannis looked away and for a while neither man spoke. Davos could hear the shouted commands of the Fury crew outside the door, and the usual goings-on that happened on every ship deck, which Davos knew better than the back of his hand. He could almost sense the ropes swinging in the breeze, the wind thrashing the canvas and most of all the waves glimmering in the sunshine.
"When will we make it to Seagard, Ser Davos? Three days? Four?"
Stannis's voice broke through his thoughts and Davos shifted to attention, feeling guilty that he'd let his thoughts creep up on him. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts.
"Three days sounds right, for a fleet of this size. Two if the weather improves."
"Three days, then." Stannis nodded, satisfied. "Which means four days until my brother can start his invasion. Go to your men and your ship, Ser. Our job is not done. Not yet."
o-O-o
Jasper swayed slightly as he stumbled back towards the campfire. The ale and wine he'd consumed, desite being less than half a skin-full in quantity, had begun to take effect; his vision was blurred, and his movements were jittery. While this wasn't the first time he'd consumed alcohol, he was still but ten-and-two, and a lightweight.
With difficulty he managed to brush past several laughing and singing Valemen, their wine-flushed faces shadowed by the dark, moonless night, to where his friends were huddled together. He sat down heavily in between Osric and Robar, immediately stretching his hands out towards the flickering fire, seeking its comforting warmth.
Osric glanced round at him in surprise, his eyes bleary from the drink.
"Where'd you bugger off to?"
"Take a piss," Jasper grunted, reaching for the wine skin offered by Jon Redfort, from the other side of Robar. He took a healthy swig, enjoying the way it seemed to light a fire through his veins.
"Jaspey!"
He looked across the circle to Hector, who was swaying so much he looked close to falling off the log he was sitting on. Jasper regarded him with as much sternness as his drunk self could muster.
"Hector, you may be my friend but if you ever call me that again I'll cut off your bollocks and feed them to you. Understood?" He asked.
Hector pouted, as the other boys and young men laughed.
"I jus' wanted to ask your op-p-p…"
"Opinion." Creighton Redfort supplied.
"Opinion!" Hector confirmed, nodding his head madly. "Exactly! Me an' Creighty-"
"Don't call me that."
"- were jus' debating w-whether… uh…"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Creighton cried, "I'll ask him. Who'd win in a fight- King Robert or Lord Royce? I said King Robert, obviously, but Hector reckons Lord Yohn."
"He's got more e-experience," Hector insisted.
Jasper frowned in thought. As much as he looked up to Lord Yohn, he didn't think he could beat Robert with his Warhammer though it would certainly be a fight for the ages.
"That's true," he conceded, knowing everyone around the circle was listeining to him, "but I think Robert's youth would win out. They'd both be heavily armoured and hack and slash at each other with big, strong strokes for ages, 'cause that's their style, but eventually Lord Yohn would tire, I reckon."
"Not necessarily," Robar piped up, loyally defending his father. "I can't imagine even King Robert is as big and strong as father."
"You'd be surprised," Jasper snorted, thinking of his hulking eldest brother.
"What about Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan?" Ser Roland Waynwood asked.
"Ser Barristan, of course!" Osric near shouted. "He's Barristan the Bold!"
"Agreed." Jasper nodded.
"Well, going by Jasper's logic, wouldn't the Kingslayer's youth win out?" Robar asked.
"Hey!" Jasper elbowed him. "Don't use my argument against me. Besides, Ser Barristan's an exception."
"No, no Robar's got a point," Elron Elesham argued haughtily, to Osric's splutters. "Ser Barristan's old. Ser Jaime would just have to defend for a little while and then the Bold would tire, and he'd get an opening." The heir to the Paps nodded to himself in a self-satisfied way.
"Bullshit!" Osric spat.
"It is not." Elron seemed affronted.
"Is to!"
"Is not!"
Jasper and the others groaned. Osric and Elron switched with disturbing frequency from best of friends to bitter enemies. One minute they were arguing fiercely, even several times resorting to fist fights- all of which had ended inconclusively-, the next they had their arms round each other, a mug of ale each, and were claiming eternal friendship.
Jasper and the rest left the two of them to arguing.
"I can't wait until we get to Seagard." Robar grinned. "Think of all the Ironborn we're going to kill!"
"As if you're be killing anyone," Jon Redfort smirked.
"I will!" Robar argued, standing up to emphasise his point, though that had slightly less effect than he would have wanted as he fell over as he did so. "I'm the best swordsman in the Vale! King Yorwyck Royce the Fourth reborn!"
He glared round at all of them, daring anyone to argue with Robar the Mighty. It was Hector who rose to the occasion.
"Please," Hector slurred, "after your last spar with Jasper, you were limping more than a Flea Bottom whore after a full night's shift."
The rest roared with laughter, even Osric and Elron stopping their bickering to chortle at Robar's expense. Robar's cheeks tinged pink and he sat down.
"Not so confident now, little brother?" Ser Andar laughed from where he'd been talking to his cousin, Albar Royce, and Jon and Creighton's elder brother, Ser Jasper Redfort.
"Fuck off!" Robar shouted, with hunched shoulders and ducked head.
His elder brother ignored him, instead staggering to his feet and wandering off towards another campfire, Albar and Ser Jasper quickly following him.
"He's not completely wrong, though," Elron said, when most of the laughter had subsided. "I can't wait to earn my knighthood. Ser Elron of House Elesham has a nice ring to it, eh?"
"It sure does, brother," Rolph Elesham, Elron's quiet younger brother assured him.
"Keep dreaming, Elesham," Ser Roland, the only anointed knight left amongst the group, snorted.
"As if you can talk, Ser Roland." Elron jutted his lip out petulantly. "How much gold did your grandmother promise Lord Belmore to knight you, again?"
Ser Roland was on his feet at once.
"Say that again, you pox-ridden islander," the knight of Ironoaks spat, as Elron too climbed to his feet.
"Yeah? Pox-ridden?" Elron's mouth curled unpleasantly. "Well why don't you fuck off and crawl back inside your mother's cunt where you belong, eh? Best for everybody, I think."
Ser Roland took a menacing step forward, while Jasper groaned; why were drunks always so combative?
"You're going to regret those words, Elron."
"And I suppose you're going to make me?"
The two stared each other down for several moments before Jasper concluded he needed to act.
"Peace!" Jasper interceded himself between them. "Enough of this bullshit! We're about to go to war, we hardy need to be making enemies among our own ranks. I'm sure the lords and knights we serve would agree with me. Osric, get Ser Roland back to his tent. Rolph, do the same with your brother. It's been a long day and we have a war to fight on the morrow. Time to call it a night."
He glanced around with as much authority as he could muster and eventually Ser Roland and Elron took a step or two away from each other. Osric immediately led Ser Roland away with an arm around the Waynwood's shoulders, sending Jasper a wink as he did so. Rolph hesitantly took his older brother's arm and began to pull him in the other direction. Jasper tried to send him an encouraging smile, but the boy avoided his eyes, as he always did. Rolph, like many others, was hesitant in front of royal blood, despite being more than a year Jasper's senior. Most, like Elron or Ser Roland, seemed to forget King Robert was his brother after a few nights drinking together, but for others, like Rolph, that fact would always be at the back of their minds, influencing their behaviour. Jasper didn't know whether it was cautiousness or timidity- perhaps it was both.
"Well, it's been a fun night," Creighton Redfort lauhed, standing up with his brother. "Got right scary at the end there, my prince, but I reckon it's time me and Jon retired before our father sends a search party."
Jasper bid them both a good night tiredly. He cast his eyes around, looking for Robar, and found him hunched over a prone figure on the ground. Jasper began to approach and as he got closer he recognized the lying figure as a passed-out Hector. Lord Yohn's second squire lay spread eagled in the grass, snoring softly. A line of dribble ran from the corner of his mouth to a small pool in the ground next to him. He stank of ale.
"Seven hells," Jasper breathed. "How long has he been asleep?"
"He only just collapsed," Robar replied, looking tempted to laugh.
"Great." Japer said, flatly. "Your father will be so pleased."
"He'll understand," Robar tried to assure him. "It's our last night on the road before reaching Seagard, after all."
"I doubt that, but miracles do happen," Jasper sighed.
"So," Robar began, after a moment, "you take his legs, I'll take his arms?"
"Fine."
Jasper took a solid hold of each of his friend's legs, Robar doing the same with Hector's arms, and both of them lifted him up. Jasper grunted with the exertion as they began to move towards Lord Yohn's encampment, sidestepping a number of obstacles, from drunks to tents, as they did so. Jasper wondered idly how Hector could be so bloody heavy when he appeared to be relatively slim.
"Gods," Robar gave voice to his thoughts, "we need to get Hector to lay off the meat. It's like carrying a horse."
"Be glad it's not Osric," Jasper warned, "we'd have already collapsed."
Robar groaned at the mere thought. Hector muttered something in his sleep.
"You know," Jasper said, panting, "when I begged your father to let me join you lot on the battlefield, this is really not what I had in mind."
o-O-o
Jasper shouldered his way through the throng of people that filled the streets of Seagard. Soldiers bearing coats of arms from across the Seven Kingdoms on their livery intermingled with the regular townspeople, going to the market or visiting the numerous taverns and brothels that lined Seagard's main street and the countless alleys beyond. Tens of thousands of men were camped below the town's walls, preparing for the coming invasion, so the town was nearly overflowing with people.
Jasper and the rest of the Valemen contingent had arrived that morning and after setting up Lord Yohn's tent with Hector and taking care of the horses, the Lord of Runestone had given Jasper leave to seek out Robert, who was lodging in Lord Mallister's castle.
When he arrived at the bustling castle and gave his name to the guard captain on duty, he was quickly led up a great set of steps and down a long stone hallway to two large double doors of a deep mahogany. The guard escorting him knocked twice before pushing against the wood, the doors giving way with a low groan.
The hall beyond was large and grand, though smaller than the great halls of Storm's End and Runestone. Large windows lined the long rectangular room, letting streams of silvery sunlight fall through and filling the space with dazzling sun rays. At the far end, on the raised dais, was a high table around which stood a group of armoured men, all staring at something on the table in concentration. Jasper's first footsteps clip-clopped loudly, carrying across the room and the men all looked up as one at his approach.
Jasper recognized few of them. Robert was hard to miss, of course, standing at the centre of the group with Ser Barristan at his shoulder. Stannis hovered at the fringes of the group, looking much the same as ever; hard-faced and keen-eyed, the Lord of Dragonstone showed little emotion. Jasper's stomach flipped at the sight of the two of them, but he did not recognize any of the others, save from the Blackfish. There was another Kingsguard knight, who looked dead and lifeless standing in the shadows at the back of the hall, as well as a collection of fierce looking lords, sporting sigils that were familiar to Jasper, even if the men who bore them were not. A grey direwolf, a silver eagle, a cluster of grapes, a golden lion, a flayed man, a naked woman, a black and white boar; all were represented, along with a host of other houses from the North, Riverlands, Westerlands and Reach, and though Jasper could guess at some of the names of the men present, others were a mystery to him.
"Gods, Jasper!" Robert bellowed. Jasper's eldest brother strode around the table and paced towards him quickly. "Bloody hells, that can't be my little brother!"
"Ro-Your Grace…" Jasper stuttered as Robert reached him.
"Bah, I'll have none of that 'Your Grace' shit," Robert grinned, before stepping forward to seize him in a tight hug. Jasper could feel his ribs being crushed as he struggled to hug Robert back, and he could feel his brother's wine-scented breath on his face. "Fuck, it's been too long."
"I've good to see you too," Jasper told him honestly while Robert finally released him and took a step back.
Robert looked him up and down, studying him, and after a few moments he laughed with glee, seemingly satisfied. Clapping Jasper on the shoulder, he said, "You've grown to be a right maiden's terror, little brother. It's almost like looking in a mirror!"
Jasper wasn't sure he agreed. He looked at Robert properly for the first time since entering the hall and found that the King of Westeros had grown stouter and wider around his middle. Jasper wouldn't yet call him fat, but he was certainly not far off. His brother, it seemed, had become even fonder of feasts and food in the last few years than he already had been. He looked fearsome enough, though, dressed from head to foot in glinting steel with the black stag of House Baratheon leaping proudly across his chest.
Jasper smiled but was saved from replying by the coming of another of his brothers. Stannis's approach was more measured than that of Robert's and his greeting was more restrained.
"Jasper," Stannis nodded. "You look well."
"As do you, brother," Jasper smiled. He held back from hugging the other man, knowing Stannis wouldn't appreciate the gesture, especially in front of other lords. "I'm glad to see you once more. I was sorry I missed your wedding, something came up for Lord Yohn."
"Understood." Stannis said, after sending a glare towards Robert at the mention of his wedding. "It is pleasant to see you once more, also."
Jasper smiled, knowing Stannis felt more than he said aloud, but Robert snorted in derision.
"As touching as ever, Stannis," snarked Robert. He put an arm around Jasper's shoulders and lead him forcefully to the raised dais where the various lords were watching the three of them, some curiously, some with amusement, and a couple showing no emotion at all. Jasper gulped under their gaze.
"For those who don't know, my lords, this is my younger brother, Jasper, squire to Lord Yohn Royce," Robert announced. Robert steered him in front of one man in particular, a solemn, long faced man with long brown hair and eyes as dark and cold as winter's ice. "Jasper, this icy-faced bugger is Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell! Ned, this is Jasper."
"We have met once before, Your Grace, though I doubt Prince Jasper would remember," Lord Stark smiled slightly. "It is nice to see you all grown up, Prince Jasper."
"And you, Lord Stark," Jasper nodded, "I think I do remember, slightly. You came to Storm's End after the rebellion to end the siege, but you didn't stay for long."
Lord Stark's eyes darkened, and his brow furrowed. "No, I did not," he said.
"And here's the man of the hour," Robert crowed, bringing forth a tall young man with intense blue-grey eyes, "Jasper, this is Lord Jason Mallister, who stole all the fun for himself and beat back the Ironborn, slaying Balon's son and heir in the process!"
"It is an honour to meet you, my lord," Jasper bowed his head, excited to meet such a man. "Your feats must be truly impressive, for my brother to praise you so."
"The king flatters me, Your Grace," Lord Jason said humbly and shortly.
Robert led him around, proudly introducing him to the host of lords. Some Jasper was glad to meet. He was thrilled to see Ser Barristan again, as well as the Blackfish, Ser Brynden Tully, who he had meet several times during his time in the Vale and who he was still in awe of. The lords Crakehall, Stackspear, Brax, Piper, Blackwood, Bracken, Lefford, Grimm, Bulwer, Hornwood, Mormont and a dozen others were courteous and polite, but a few troubled Jasper for differing reasons.
Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, scared him like no man before had. His pale, detached eyes bored into Jasper, and while his words of greeting were soft and mild-mannered, they somehow put Jasper ill at ease. Lord Tywin Lannister, cold and calculating, Jasper was also cautious of after what he'd heard about the man from Lord Yohn. As he greeted the Warden of the West, Jasper felt the man's cool eyes on him constantly, as if judging him. He cut the greeting as short as he could without being rude.
It was Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, who gave him the most pause, however. When introduced to the stooped, reedy lord Jasper had greeted one of the men who had once attempted to starve him with cool disdain. Lord Paxter's smile had vanished and he had shifted uncomfortably until Lord Hornwood had skilfully changed the subject.
"May I inquire as to the whereabouts of the lords of the Vale, Prince Jasper?" Lord Tywin asked him quietly once all the introductions had finally been exhausted.
"They are just directing their men to the appropriate camping spots. I'm sure they will present themselves as soon as they can, Lord Lannister," Jasper told the stern Lord of Casterly Rock.
"Well I'm glad you lot are finally here," Robert boomed, "Now we can finally start fighting this war on our terms, my lords."
"We all look forward to it, Your Grace," Jonos Bracken, Lord of Stone Hedge, effused, to the muttered agreement of the other lords, with the notable exception of Tytos Blackwood.
"Perhaps it is best if we see to the final preparations, Your Grace?" Ned Stark addressed Robert. "It seems we have decided on a final battle plan."
"Aye, Ned, I suppose you're right," Robert grunted. "Go to your men then, my lords, for we set sail on the morrow. But remember to return tonight," Robert laughed clapping Jason Mallister on the shoulder, "Lord Jason is throwing a farewell feast. Should be one to remember, ha!"
"As you desire, Your Grace," Lord Tywin bowed slightly, and moved stiffly towards the exit, his bannermen hurriedly following him after bows of their own.
"Ned, want to stay for a goblet of wine or two, eh?" Robert jovially asked the Lord of Winterfell. "I fell like I've hardly spoken to you these last few days."
"I'm afraid I must see to my men, Your Grace, if you permit."
"Ah, fine," Robert shrugged, "I'll see you tonight then, eh? Go on then, off with the rest of you!"
With low bows the other lords shuffled out, striking up quiet conversations as they exited. Only Jasper, Robert, Stannis, Ser Barristan and the unknown Kingsguard remained.
Robert stared gloomily after his friend for a few moments, before his face cleared and he turned to Jasper.
"Come on, sit down," Robert waved him towards the table, "Have a cup of wine."
"Robert," Stannis said in a warning tone.
"Oh, come on, Stannis, he's ten-and-two!" Robert chuckled, pouring two glasses, as Jasper sat down gingerly. "I was more than a year younger the first time I got properly buggered. Ha!"
"We are not all you, Your Grace," Stannis said testily.
Jasper cringed inside, hoping Lord Yohn did not divulge to Stannis that he was hardly a novice when it came to drink. He would hate for his brother to be disappointed in him.
Grudgingly Stannis sat down opposite Jasper and Robert. Tentatively Jasper took a small sip of the wine, a rich vintage which tasted Dornish, while Robert downed his glass in one and refilled it from the jar on the table in front of him.
"So," Stannis began, as Robert slouched back in his chair and focused more on his wine, "Lord Yohn's letters claim you thrive at Runestone."
"I would hope so," Jasper said, not quite sure what he was expected to say. "I have fun, I learn my letters, sums and histories from Maester Helliweg, and arms from Lord Yohn and Ser Samwell Stone. I've enjoyed my time thus far."
"And how is the training?" Robert asked, leaning forwards. "Reckon you can beat your big brother in the yard yet, hmm?"
"With that belly you've grown?" Jasper asked. "Easily."
Robert rumbled with laughter and thundered, "Why, you've grown bold, Jasper!"
"I've not lost a spar against another squire for half a year," Jasper told them both proudly, only stretching the truth slightly, while Robert continued to laugh. "Ser Samwell says I'm a natural at both sword and lance, and I even nearly beat Lord Yohn once."
"Bold, skilled and confident!" Robert chortled.
"Or hubris," Stannis grouched, causing Robert to role his eyes. "I hope this doesn't mean you think you're ready for the front lines."
"I go where Lord Yohn goes, brother," Jasper said, trying to keep his cool. "If that is the front lines, so be it. That is my duty, as his squire. Are you not the one who taught me that duty comes before all else?"
"That is pure folly," Stannis argued, "You are a prince of the blood and your duty is to the realm. Besides if it is warfare you crave so much, battles are won from generals behind the lines, not soldiers at the fore."
"Oh, that's utter bullshit and you know it, Stannis!" Robert said, shaking his head. "Battle plans and generals do not alone win battles. It's men in the thick of it, getting their hands dirty."
"I'm not a boy any longer, Stannis," Jasper added darkly.
"Are you not?" Stannis calmly raised an eyebrow. "You are not a knight, nor are you at the age of manhood. Therefore, you are still just a boy."
"That's enough!" Robert roared. "Jasper shall fight with his lord, and that is an end to it."
Reluctantly Stannis nodded and the three of them lurched into an uneasy silence. It made Jasper miss Renly, who was safe back in Storm's End. Seeing his eldest brothers again had only made the separation from his twin more glaring. For the first eight or so years of his life Renly had been constantly by his side, but it had now been more than four years since he'd last seen him. Robar, Osric, Hector and the others had become extremely dear to him, but he wasn't sure if his twin could ever really be replaced.
"So…" Jasper finally ventured cautiously, "Stannis, how was your wedding?"
Robert laughed, and Stannis gritted his teeth.