Laughter rang across the old battlefield. The late afternoon sun was shining brightly, glistening off the muddy waters of the Trident. The wolf pup scampered playfully after the stick Jon had just tossed. A flagon of summerwine was passed around and all four drank deeply.
Ghost came running back to Jon, the stick clamped tightly in his mouth. Jon tried to pull it away, but Ghost was not letting go, only too happy to play tug of war with his master. As Jon struggled with his direwolf pup, a lazy drawl came from behind him.
"You've got to train that wolf of yours better, Snow. Keep up like that and it'll end up as wild and unmannered as you." Theon Greyjoy lazed on the banks of the river twiddling an arrow through his fingers.
"Shut up, Theon, I know what I'm doing. I don't need your help." Jon responded irritably as he wrestled with Ghost who was now playfully attacking him.
"See, that's what I mean," Theon said unconcernedly, as Ghost's claws raked Jon's arm. "You're rude and don't know how to speak to your betters. Why Lord Stark brought an ungrateful bastard along with him, I'll never know."
"Oh give him a break, Theon," Cley Cerwyn said, "I'll bet you ten stags you can't shoot those crows up there." He pointed to a nearby tree where three crows cawed noisily.
"Easy," Theon said unslinging his bow. He measured the distance with his eyes, cocking back the longbow. With a fluid motion he drew and fired the arrow into the tree. It landed amidst the branches a good ten yards beneath where the lowest crow perched.
"Ha! You missed!" Cley said triumphantly. But Theon wasn't done yet. His first shot had caused the birds to rise into the air in alarm. Another arrow was notched and ready as they came flying overhead. One crow suddenly crumpled and fell to the ground an arrow piercing its breast.
Theon cleared his throat noisily. Cley sighed and got out his coin pouch, grumbling all the while. Theon pocketed his coin and took another gulp from the wine pitcher. A bit dribbled down his chin and onto the black silk doublet he was wearing staining the gold kraken emblazoned there. Theon cursed loudly.
Jon finally got the stick away from Ghost and stood up panting heavily, blood was flowing freely from his arm. Ghost looked at him expectantly. Jon sighed, and threw the stick as far as he could. The white wolf bounded after it. Tearing strips from his wrecked sleeve to make a crude bandage, Jon made his way over to where the three other boys sat.
"What ya thinking about, Rod?" he asked the lean-faced youth who had been staring off into the river.
"Lynessa," Rodwell Stout said with a sigh.
Of course, Jon thought rolling his eyes. Rodwell was in love with Lynessa Ryswell, eldest daughter of Lord Roger Ryswell. The Stouts were a modest house with a keep near Barrowton, but being a younger son of a younger son, Rodwell was not a prestigious match for such a highborn lady. As such, Rodwell was determined to prove his worth in battle and return north to marry his love. Jon had heard the young man wax poetic about her ever since he had joined them at Moat Cailin.
"What you need is a good fuck with a couple whores," Theon said with a characteristic smirk. "That'll cure you of this love nonsense. You'll soon learn one woman is as good as any other, why spend your time thinking about one you can't have when you can go out and get others?"
Rodwell reddened furiously but responded defiantly nonetheless. "I won't sully my vows of love to Lynessa by bedding a cheap whore. Our love will endure despite our trials and we will be stronger for it. Our love goes beyond mere tastes of flesh."
Theon just smiled. "Well, suit yourself I suppose. More for me that way. Pass the wine, Cley."
Cley held out the flagon for his friend. He was also lost in thought, gazing out at the fords, but he clearly had different things on his mind. "Isn't it amazing," he said some time later, "that here we are right where Robert won his crown? Just imagine being there at the battle. Right here, armies clashed and fought. And over there," he said pointing to the ford, "Robert and Rhaegar met in single combat until Robert smashed the Dragon Prince's chest with his warhammer scattering rubies everywhere."
As Cley spoke, Jon saw the battle in his mind's eye. The glint of steel, the flash of arms, the banners rustling in the wind. And Robert and Rhaegar fighting for the woman they both loved. It must have been a magnificent sight to witness such a battle, and even more glorious to have fought in it. He wondered why his father didn't speak of it more often.
"I hope we'll see some action soon," he said ruffling Ghost's fur. Jon hoped he would soon demonstrate his worth to his father and earn some respect from those such as Theon who called him "bastard" and "Snow." He would win his name in battle and prove those who had doubted his merit, wrong.
He and the others were lost in the fantasies of their coming glory, and the songs that would be sung of them in the years to come, when a rider came galloping up. It was Jory Cassel, Father's captain of the guard. He ordered them back to camp with all haste.
Bemused, the four boys gathered their belongings and hurried back to camp with Jory. When they arrived, Jon found his father pacing anxiously in front of his tent. He seemed worried about something.
"Good, you're back," he said with a smile when he saw Jon. "Come in here." Jon followed his father into the tent. It was sparsely furnished, besides a simple cot, the only furniture was a table and chair and Lord Eddard's personal trunk. Jon saw a scroll unrolled on the table.
"Did you receive a raven?" he asked.
His father nodded grimly. "From King's Landing. Dark wings, dark words. Cersei's been executed, raiders in the Riverlands, and Robert wants to throw a bloody tourney."