Andrew
Outside the day was bright and cloudless. The sun had returned to the sky by the time Andrew made it down from his solar. To his back the castle of Riverrun was busy unfolding with the day. He had his sword at his back, sheathed in the scabbard of soft brown leather.
Asher stood near some of the horses in the yard, talking with Kill Bill Dustin. Lord William was with them as well, standing there with his son. At this time of the day the Company of Rose seemed to use the yard of Riverrun for their training. Ethan, the handsome young man from the Reach, huddled near the armoury, his back to the others as he examined the blades there. Owen and Barton were sparring with each other using live steel. Among the men at the company of Rose using tourney swords to sparring or training had been seen as a sign of fear. They didn't fear blood and was much more intent on bloodshed, like the pitfighters from the east. It had it's own benefits, Andrew knew. A man should know his blade as much as he did his own arms. In battle even a small thing like the familiar weight of a blade could the difference between life and death. But he wouldn't need a blade to defend him here. He had Frost for another purpose. Ghost was the only protection Andrew needed; the direwolf could sniff out foes, even those who hid their enmity behind smiles.
Ghost was gone, though. He had left the direwolf in his chambers when he had gone to meet with the smiths, but by the time he returned the white wolf had gone. He knew where he might have gone to. And he was quite sure about it.
He crossed the yard and passed by the armoury, searching for his wolf and his wife. He found them beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by elms and redwoods with the weirwood which had seen him marry his wife watching over them.
Then Ghost emerged from between two trees when he heard him coming, with Argella beside him.
They look as though they belong together even as they couldn't look anymore different. Argella was clad all in black; black leather breeches tucked into high boots of soft black leather, an armour of boiled leather over her front, black tunic with golden fastenings. Clad all in black it made her look so pale, as pale as Ghost... but her eyes were blue, her long braid was the colour of the darkest night, her cheeks flushed red. At times Andrew Stark forgot to see her beauty. But it was hard to miss it now.
"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.
"Why not?" Argella answer, shrugging. "If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter. Even kings."
That made him smile a little. His queen, his lady wife, wild to the bone and willful as a hale. What had the men said of her in his bedding? "A nubile girl, not hard to look upon. Good hips, good breasts, well made for whelping children. Bend her over the table, your grace and give us a song to sing about."
She had punched the man's face for his words. Good hips, good breasts... All true enough, but Argella Baratheon was so much more. She had proved that by fighting alongside seasoned warriors of her father's army. He had heard the tales of her from the soldiers in the yard. She liked to tell that she was not be a Queen, but she would make a worthy wife for any lord or King. But it was something that he found himself hard to wade across... Andrew himself found it hard to accept her as one. "Well, you are welcome to have him."
Argella patted the head of the direwolf that rose up past her hip. "See that boy. He won't mind. I suspect he is trying to hand you towards me. Then, keeping to those kingly duties will be much easier for him."
He could hear a hint of accusation in her ears. They were married for about a week now and his wife still stayed a maid. They stayed as husband and wife, but didn't even share a bed just to sleep. He had taken to sleep at the chair by the table while his wife kept the bed to herself. As Andrew scratched Ghost behind the ear, Argella took a tourney sword she had most likely stolen from the armoury of Riverrun. She still had her bow along her back, a long curved bow made of wood. As she turned the sword toward him, she asked, "I see that you come prepared for our training?"
Andrew looked back over his shoulder where the hilt of Frost poked over his shoulder. "You can say that," Andrew said, removing the sword along with the scabbard from his back.
Argella fell in beside him. "Is that the sword you used to kill the dragon?"
Andrew nodded.
"Can I see it?" Argella asked. "I want to see this magnificent dragon slaying sword."
She had taken the sword from his hand even before he could let her know of his answer. Argella ran her hand on the brown silver banded scabbard and then moving to the soft black leather grip and the pommel of the sword, the small crown of winters wrought all in silver.
She pressed her finger on one of the spikes on the pommel. "It looks like your crown."
"That is supposed to look like the crown of the Kings in the North. Though originally it doesn't have any silver. Only bronze and iron and bigger enough to fit for a head."
Argella made a face. "Oh, I thought crowns went around the ankles of the Kings. I have seen enough Kings to know where a crown was worn, your grace."
He had to stifle his laughter at that. Argella drew Frost with a single pull from it's scabbard. The icy sword was not so heavy despite being half a foot longer than the typical longsword. The sharp edges of Frost gleamed blue in the bright sunlight that entered through the thicket of trees above. The blade looked as if it was frozen itself. But the bright blue ripples were lively as they ever were.
His friends in the east had liked to say that the sword had more moods than any man or woman. On certain lights it looked to be crystal shard made if ice. On moonless nights it turned as dark as smoke. In the starlight it seemed to shimmer like a distant blue star. And on days like this, there was no mistaking it for anything but steel and ice and frost. On the day he had fought the dragon he sword shimmered bright as a frosted crystal, every ripple on its blade limned by a deep blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges as it glowed in blue that burned like ice. He had let Maester Walys look at the blade then, to study it and all the old maester would tell him was that it was no ordinary blade and magic had been fused within it.
Argella inspected the crossguard and the runes and patterns incised near the crossguard along both sides of the blade. She dropped the scabbard down and moved her hand to touch the blade.
"No," Andrew said quickly, knowing what she was about to do.
Argella eyed him blankly. "What?" She shook her head, her hand hovering inches above the cold frozen blade.
"Don't touch it." Andrew looked at her as she slowly brought her hand down towards the blade.
"Damn it." She shrieked and pulled her hand away as if the blade had burnt her hand. "It's cold."
Andrew gave her a smile. "I told you not to touch it," he said. "Do you always like to do what others tell you not to do?"
"I do what I want to do." Argella replied. She picked up the scabbard from the ground and carefully sheathed the blade.
"So ... I brought you my own sword, as I said I would. What now? Would you be teaching me some of your tricks, your grace?"
Andrew looked at her. "You need to be able to lift that sword to be able to wield it properly. Would you be able to do that?"
Argella looked at him and screwed her eyes. "I know how to hold a sword, your grace," she said impatiently. "I have done it before."
"I've no doubt of that," Andrew said. "You may not be as comfortable with the sword as you are with your bow. That's all I wanted to say."
"I would choose the freedom of doing what I want to do over comfort every time."
Andrew looked at her curiously as she said that.
"My mother never approved of me playing with swords like boys," explained Argella.
"Freedom of doing it you shall have, but I regret to say you must keep it from the eyes of your mother then. I can promise that you will not be troubled by unwanted visitors here, however. You will have a perfect guard in Ghost here. He will keep watch at the gate when you want to train."
"A direwolf as protector? Even Alysanne Targaryen could not boast of that."
The weirwood watched them pass, peering out through the somber red eyes while ravens watched down from the trees.
"How did you get the sword?" Andrew asked her.
"Ask me a year from now and I shall tell you. A girl has her own secrets as you do, your grace," Argella smiled. He noticed that she didn't use the title of the Queen to address herself despite calling him by his own. "The hard part still awaits me. The part where I convince my mother about my secret liaisons should she ever hear about it. She is not going to like it, I fear, no more than she will like your part in it."
Andrew wondered how that might go. He figured that wouldn't end well in any way at all.
"Don't worry, I'll help you should it come to that." His wife chuckled. "I shall defend you."
"You already have."
Why not? thought Andrew. She might not have to worry about her mother anymore. She is a Queen now. They all agreed of that. Argella looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior Queen, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. "I feel like I must inform Lady Cersei of this agreement," he said, smiling after a while.
"You are welcome to come meet her," Argella said. "Now shall we start the lessons, your grace?"
Then they started their first day of training. He had never taught anyone anything before. He was not a teacher like Syrio Forel had been, who had been as good a teacher as he had been a warrior. Andrew taught her the small steps he had learn from the Braavosi. Argella protested impatiently that she didn't want to learn how to hold a sword or how to see her enemies.
"You need to learn to walk before you can run," he told her.
"I was told to have learnt to run before I could walk," Argella said proudly.
"This is no game, my lady," Andrew said. "Should something go wrong..." He could still remember Joy in her pool of blood, with an arrow to her heart. I did that to her and I couldn't bear to see her paying for my mistakes as well. He turned to Argella. "Follow my words, if you please."
"The King commands, the Queen must obey." Her tone was playful.
Soon enough she had the proper grip around the hilt of the blade and a well balanced stance to stay light and strong on her feet. He gave her a shield as well, a round one made of hard wood and studded with iron to keep the blows away. She was new enough to it to fight without a shield, something even the seasoned warriors of Westeros have troubles doing so. Andrew taught her to parry and counter from there. How to turn away the blade with her shield and press her own attack at the enemy. When he was satisfied with her movement, he let her try it out against himself.
Andrew prowled around Argella in a slow circle, sword in hand, forcing her to turn. "Get your shield up," he said.
"It's too heavy," his queen complained.
"It's as heavy as it needs to be to stop a sword," Andrew said. "Now get it up." He stepped forward, slashing. Argella jerked the shield up in time to catch the sword on its rim, and swung her own blade at Argella's ribs. "Good," Andrew said, when he felt the impact on his own shield. "That was good. But you need to put your body into it. Get your weight behind the steel and you'll do more damage than with arm strength alone. Come, try it again, drive at me, but keep the shield up or I'll ring your head like a bell . . . "
Andrew was showing Argella how best to deliver a sidestroke when the new recruit entered the practice yard. "Your feet should be a little bit farther apart," he urged. "You don't want to lose your balance. That's good. Now pivot as you deliver the stroke, get all your weight behind the blade."
Instead Argella took a step backward and lowered her sword. Ghost walked up from the foot of the heart tree where he was laying and stood staring towards the gate. Someone was there, he knew and moments later he arrived.
Asher caught up with them amidst the trees, halfway during their sparring. They had been at it for some time now and it could be seen clearly on them, more so on the queen. There was more than an hour to noon remained when he had promised to teach her when his friend came searching for him, and Andrew called a halt at once, and turned to face him. "Andrew," Asher said, in an anxious voice looking at the direwolf then at Argella behind him.
He was standing behind him all alone though. Asher was his friend and he knew how to keep a secret. It would not do any good if the entire castle knew that he was teaching his own Queen to wield a sword.
"What is it?" he asked, thrusting the point of Frost in front of him.
"Lord Arryn's called for you," replied Asher. "It's something important."
Andrew looked back at his wife and then back at Asher. He grabbed the leather coat from the branch where he had hung it up and slipped it on. He sheathed Frost and left the Godswood with a final look at Argella. "Come on, Ghost," he called. The direwolf bounded off to his heels at once.
He found that Lord Arryn has already convened a council at Hoster Tully's solar. The chair at the head of the table was left for his own seat. Andrew sat down. A map was open across the table. Ghost curled at his feet. Lord Arryn was accompanied by Lord Robert and his son and heir, with his brothers Stannis and Renly, Lord Hoster and his brother Ser Brynden and son Edmure, his uncle Ser Gunthor. Other lords were with them as well, their trusted lords and bannermen. The Greatjon was by his chair, along with Rickard Karstark, Galbart Glover, Roose Bolton, William Dustin, Maege Mormont, Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Corbray, Lord Jon Lynderly, Lords Wylde, Mertyns, Fell, Buckler and two men that he did not know, a stout man who wore a black jerkin upon which a burning tower was stitched on the chest. His companion was bearded man with a leather hat on his head. He was no lord, he knew the moment he laid eyes on the stranger. Not even a warrior.
It was the lord who knelt before him first to pay his respect. "Your Grace, it is an honour," said Lord Grafton of Gulltown. Though not a tall man, Gerold Grafton was wide, with thick arms and shoulders. His hair was a dirty blond mop, but the Lord of Gulltown was still a handsome man. Lord Gerold had once fought his father and Lord Robert defying Lord Jon when Lord Arryn had called his banners to protect the wards he'd raised as his sons against the Mad King. Fighting had reached Gulltown where Lord Robert had slain Lord Marq, who was Gerold's father and the then Lord of Gulltown. With that though, Gerold had become the Lord of Gulltown and a loyal vassal to Lord Jon Arryn. "I bring word from the south, my lord."
The gloomy tone of his booming voice told him that it was not a good tiding. "What do we have?" He sat leaning against the chair.
Lord Grafton waited for Asher o close the door. "I am afraid I bring some dark tidings, my lords. I have brought you the captain of the Myriad, a merchanter out of King's Landing. Captain, tell them what you told me."
"Aye, my lord." He licked his thick lips nervously. "My last port of call afore Gulltown was King's Landing. The dragons kept me there for half an year, they did. King Rhaegar's command. We were to drop off goods to make space to bring in men from the east. Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis, Pentos, the Free Cities and the slaver cities alike."
Andrew listened to his words calmly. The east? He had left that part of the world a while ago. The talk about it made him think of Joy and Illola and her daughters in Braavos as well. He wondered where they were and if they were safe.
"From Essos?" asked the Greatjon impatiently. "What did the dragons have to do with those pansy merchants?"
The shabby little captain nodded. "The way I heard it in King's Landing, there is a huge army coming in from the east on King Rhaegar's orders. Unsullied and sellswords and pitfighters and slaves and slaver armies alike with elephants as well. So many of them that even the biggest of the whalers are struggling to stay afloat with the beasts on board, I hear."
Lord Arryn frowned. "Did you see this army?"
The captain bobbed his head. "Aye." He leaned forward. "The lord Hand himself led them. But he had none o' em elephants though."
"Jon Connington?" asked Lord Robert, unsurprised.
"He's been gone for moons, but now he is back, sailing into King's Landing at the head of his new army. Wherever he was, though, he's back now with a huge army, and he is marching up from King's Landing, bound to Riverrun they say. That was when I ran back to Myriad and slipped anchor, hoping I could get away whilst things were confused. And so I did, and here I am."
So the rumours that had come of a new army were indeed true. Andrew had sent Ser Beric off to the south to find out the truth of it. He hoped that Connington had not caught them.
"Captain," said Andrew when the man was done, "you have my thanks, and you will not go unrewarded. Lord Grafton will take you back to your ship when we are done. Pray wait outside."
"That I will, Your Grace. That I will."
No sooner had he left the solar than the murmurs began to arrive, but Andrew silenced them with a look.
"Rhaegar has called in support from his friends from the east, if what the captain was true," Lord Arryn said. "It seems as if while we sat here making preparations for the war, the Targaryens have not say idle as well."
"What's in it for the slavers?" Lord Hoster asked. "They have kept their noses out of our businesses until now."
"And good for them as long as they stayed their dirty hands away from here," Lord Robert said. "Ned once had qualms with some slaver in the east over a business with some prisoners. The greedy bastards would gripe for gold whenever they could, trying to extend their fingers wherever they could. We smashed their fleets upon Slaver's Bay and a taste of blood had put those fat bastards in their place. The fools would run back the moment we give them a bloody nose."
"It had to do with my nephew Jorah," Maege Mormont said. "The son of my brother."
"If Connington is on his way here then we must hurry," said the Greatjon. "We should march out and smash him before he could join forces with Aegon Targaryen."
Andrew did not think it'd be as easy as that. "No, we should deal with the dragon first," Ser Brynden Tully suggested. "If we missed the crossing soon we might be left to do nothing but get burnt by the dragon."
"Leaving Prince Aegon and his dragon unopposed on our rear will leave us exposed for encirclement," Lord Arryn said and most of them agreed with it.
He turned to face his lords then. "How long do we have before the crossing becomes impossible?" He asked Ser Brynden.
"Three or four moonturns, maybe," Ser Brynden said. "Autumn hasn't been felt here yet, but it wouldn't be too long now for it to arrive now. With the autumn rains comes the rise of the Trident."
Andrew knew that. He had seen the frequent shower of summer snows in the North before he crossed the Moat. "The Hand of the King will be coming for us toward Riverrun, I expect. Hoping to catch us off guard while we expect a push from Aegon in the east and catch us in between. We will feed of his ploy to make it as his own undoing. We will lure him further towards Riverrun with scouts and outriders and false information while we turn around to the Ford at the crossroads to face Aegon Targaryen."
Lord Tully hesitated. "My lord, do we have the strength to face the dragon in open battle?"
The answer he had was not one that his men would like the taste of. But he wouldn't tell them of that. Strength was not everything when it comes to battle though. With the help of Donal Noye, Andrew had his scorpion bolts that might hurt and wound the dragon, but he lacked the man who might be skilled enough to shoot the beast flying a hundred feet above the ground. "We would," Andrew said. It was not entirely lie. Though it was still a feeble sort of evasion, a sad rag wrapped around his wounded word. He tapped a finger on the map. "We will cross at the ford. Connington will not expect that. Once he realised that his prince is in danger he will change course from Riverrun and ride for Aegon's defence. By then we will have put the river between the two armies and beat back the Hand of the King when he tries to cross the Trident."
"You cannot mean to attack the dragon straight up the front, Your Grace," said Galbart Glover. "They might catch us at the crossing themselves."
"If they expect us where they think the attack might come," said Andrew. "We have another chance of doing it. If the Targaryens have eyes on this side of the river and they will see my whole strength rushing headlong at them in the crossing. In truth that will only be one part of my army."
He looked at them all as half of them smiled at it. "It's a nice plan, your grace," Lord Umber said. "I like it."
Andrew nodded looking at the map. "Oh and one more thing. I want my wife to stay safe through this war. The journey infront of us will be as dangerous as it was before, and naught but battle awaits us in the south. I am sending the Queen back to the North, where she will be safe at Winterfell until the war is done. She will be comfortable there, I know."
Lord Robert scoffed. "Cersei will not like it, but there is wisdom in that decision."
"Thank you, my lord," he said. Argella would not like it either, he knew. But he hoped that she would be safe there in the North. The worst of this war was yet to come and he wanted her away from all that.