Lost Griffyn
Jon slowly took the bread and salt from the maid, who could easily be one of Brune's grandchildren. Old Eustace Brune, burdened by years, sat on a large cushioned chair. Probably the most comfortable furniture in the whole keep.
Brunes had never been a great and rich house, but their fame and reputation did not wane among the smallfolk and nobility of the Crackclaw Point peninsula. Always between two fires, they welcomed the arrival of Targaryens with open arms and fought equally heartily for the old dynasty for the next 300 years.
A modest, but good start, Jon thought.
Modest attire clothed Lord Brune's thin frame—linen shirt, wool tunic adorned with faded embroidery, and a surcoat with a worn coat of arms. A meager belt held tools and trinkets. Ill-fitting cloth tubes served as hose, leather shoes with pointed toes, and a felt hat covered his balding scalp.
"I never thought I would see this sight in my life. And I've been tormented by old wives' tales for days because of the red comet," Brune said in a hoarse and weary voice. He was even old when he fought under Rhaegar's banner at the Trident.
The red comet appeared in the sky shortly after their landing. It did wonders for the morale of the members of the Golden Company, who all saw the flaming torch, which changed the color of the sky with its reflection, as a sign from the gods.
On the other hand, Jon Connington did not let himself be disturbed by nonsense and gossip. No heavenly torch will bring the boy to the throne except blood and discipline. He said the same to Aegon, but the comet did have an impact on the boy. He constantly looked at the sky, thoughtfully measuring the foreign presence, as if he expected something to happen.
Jon was afraid of change, he knew very well the obsession that afflicted Targaryens. The shine in Aerys's eyes as he looked at the wildfire. Rhaegar lived more on the paper of old scrolls, lived in lost prophecies, struggling to piece together the puzzle and dust off the providence, gone from human memory. But the boy seemed free from that obsession, he listened to Jon, rose above the tricks of vulture Mopatis, above Strickland's volatility and cowardice.
Toyne and Jon raised the boy, surrounded him with equally good lads like Mertyn Otreyes and Agrilla. Even the girl brought a level of reason and calmness to his heart. Boys his age would rarely show restraint in a campaign, in front of beautiful women, given or not. The boy learned to wait.
"Nothing but endure," Jon told him during the first long march under the hot sun. Mantra remained with the boy as he listened lessons from Haldon and Septa, or when ranks of the Golden Company were showered with arrows. He would wait obediently and patiently. Jon sometimes wondered if the boy needed him anymore, especially after the girl's death.
Eira's death tore his soul apart, squeezing mercy from it. Before, as a company sargeant, he would hardly order commands that would mean death. Death now walked with him, embroidered in the cloak of steadfastness on the battlefield. Too bad, that grizzled Myles Toyne didn't get to see the new boy.
"If men think me cruel, so much better," Miles once said, expecting the same from his officers. Aegon was not merely cruel, but relentless, sending men into deadly danger, but equally walking with them in the jaws of death. In that he was more that pest Robert, than Rhaegar.
In the small hall of the castle Dyre Den, next to which even Griffyn's Roost would look like a royal court, Aegon stood next to Jon, with Duck and Thunderex as guards. A ruin, with three stone towers, on a cliff surrounded by pine trees and deeply eroded by salty sea air. Thunderex looked confusedly at the castle, and Jon didn't blame him. Poorer merchants in Myr live in better villas. Nothing was neat or worthy of admiration, just a small fortress on the edge of the sea. Admittedly, Thunderex had never been to his native Summer Islands, where even some nobility lived in woven houses. Jon appreciated the practicality of Lord Brune's keep.
"...Old wives' tales hmmm" continued old Brune, "but look. At my door knocked a Dragon and a dead man".
Measuring Aegon and Jon, he did not pay attention to the others. His descendants from the benches directed more attention to Thunderex, probably the first dark-skinned person they saw in life.
The old man kept his gaze on Aegon, "...and that face, hmm, I almost forgot it. The old screecher still haunts me in my sleep". The remark amused Duckfield, "yay, a spitting image of a Targaryen". Amused by the irony and stupidity of the knight, Brune laughed heartily, rocking in his chair.
Old cunt did not mean that, Jon thought, knowing that the old man saw on the boy's face the same crowned game of fate. Mopatis sang to Toyne about Rhaegar, reborn, but that was far from the truth. The boy did not inherit Rhaegar's beauty, grace and refined movement. Instead, sharp and rectangular features of the face, in which were framed foreboding eyes, skipped a generation. Aegon looked more like Aerys than Viserys did. Always carefully observing the boy, he waited for evil signs to surface, but they did not. Even the death of the girl did not disturb him, quite the opposite, it brought him strength, which Toyne vainly tried to instill in the boy.
Irritated, Jon replied to the old man in a harsh voice, "join us. Gather the others, too, your wild cousin Brune, Crabbs, Boggs and the rest. They will listen to you."
Coughing, Brune changed his humorous expression to a serious one and shot Jon a fierce look, "I don't doubt they will listen, but why? Three, four kings want our support. The blonde bitch ordered us to send men to King's Landing."
Impatiently, Rolly Duckfield intervened, "Don't you guys here love Targaryens, heartily".
"Silence", Jon hushed the knight. Rude fool does not know where his place is.
"Love", Brune mocked the knight. "Love does not feed the stomach. We did not love that bitch Visenya because she was beautiful. No, because she kept the coins in our pockets, driving away those bastards Celtigars."
Aegon stepped forward, looking around the room, looking at Brune's sons and grandchildren, "maybe one of your sons would be more considerate", he calmly said to the lord.
That brought Brune back in a good mood, "a true Targaryen, threatening a man under his own roof", he laughed, "what stands behind you boy".
"Ten thousand men from the Golden Company, Dorne and...", and he paused. Smart boy, Jon thought.
Instead of the boy, he uttered the next "...and forty thousand Dothraki warriors led by Prince Viserys". The words disturbed the old man, he leaned back in his chair and sarcastically uttered, "better that your Sellswords slaughter my whole castle now. At least you won't torture us. I'm old enough and heard enough to know what those savages do in the cities of Essos. And Prince Viserys, he was on his way to become like his father. I saw him only once, he was not bigger than a boot and twat spat on me then".
The sounds of the waves became louder and for a moment Jon had nothing to say. Fooles Varys and Mopatis are idiots, savages will convince no one. Westeros will unite against them sooner than stand behind Aegon.
"I'm too old to think about gold and new land, but I want the old world back. There are days, I forget that we are one Kingdom. Robert didn't care what happened here, he barely cared about anywhere else. Only obout Reach, when the fruit ripened or to Tywin's coffers, when he needed money. Even the mad Aerys was more present. And it all ended in war, as I expected. Every fool now thinks, if he hits hard enough with his sword, that will make him king", he paused briefly to catch his breath, all the weight of the years pressed on his frail body, "listen boy, if you want the throne, leave the bloody savages where they are. Don't mention them to anyone else... You have my men and I'll call the rest of the ratched fool's to join you".
Jon sighed with relief. He would barely gather three or four thousand, but he thought again, a modest start but a good one.
...
The Kingsguard
Wild land hides wild people. Hundreds of Crabb men hurriedly occupied the field near the wood, on the road to Maidenpool, turning the ground they walked on into a muddy mess. First autumn light rains began to collapse the old summer.
"What's an old geezer like you doing here. If you're in it for the coin, you should be with the Lannisters," the younger man, dressed in even more modest armor than Barristan's, asked Barristan with a wide grin.
Summer children, thought Ser Barristan. This one was not old enough to try his luck against crazy Ironborne. If he was, another man would now be standing before Barristan. Barristan saw such faces here, whose owners were reluctantly here, some who had experienced two wars.
"Old men also wage war... and make war", uninterestedly with a slight amused smile replied Ser Barristan. The old commander of the Kingsguard, whome here no one would recognize, was dressed in modest breeches and padded shirt over which he put pieces of armor he managed to collect. All that under the guise of a washed-out and worn-out cloak with a hood. He let his beard grow, because he was still a wanted man and did not want to attract attention.
Secretly and carefully he made his way through the muddy terrain to get as close as possible to the young King. Among the rare Targaryen banners, the golden banners of the Golden Company dominated. His first real enemies, the day he earned his white cloak, the day he cut down many skilled men from this sellsword company and decided fate of the usurper Maelys himself. He killed one, and served another for twenty years, thought Barristan.
Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he had crossed paths with Robert on Trident. It wasn't the first time that prince Rhaegar robbed Ser Barristan of a victory and the realm regretted for it. The world is changing, Ser Barristan thought wistfully, looking at the red comet, which had already lost the admiration of many people. Sometimes he wondered if he was dreaming, after Trident everything seemed strange, and above all boring. Monotony is a slow poison that kills. Warrior Robert had a less interesting reign than Aerys, who was afraid of his own shadow. If Grayjoy hadn't risen in revolt, nothing would have happened at all.
Maybe Ser Gerold will wake him from his sleep soon, and he will have to take over night duty. Did he really want that, he wondered.
He came close to the King, ten feet away and for a moment Ser Barristan lost his breath. He stared motionlessly at the figure in front of him. A waterfall of memories almost carried away the old knight.
Irritating sound of seagulls was then replaced by the clanging of swords and the sighs of men. War had come again to the Stepstones and his young face watched the crown prince. Tywin Lannister, Hoster, Brynden Tully and Lord Steffon, Robert's late father, stood like shadows beside the young prince.
Morale was low, Commander and Hand of the King ser Ormund was among the first to die, soon followed by second in command, ser Jason Lannister on Bloodstone. Despite everything, he remembered his excitement, he had a good armor, whose shine set him apart from the others. He rode a powerful black horse. Barristan's skill at tournaments paid off and he was ready for war.
The crown prince did not impress ser Barristan, like most Targaryens, except for Rhaegar. Fair-haired, handsome and timid but ordinary, He seemed not to want to be in the spotlight. Instead, he found support in Tywin, the young Lannister expressed himself in such a way that it seemed the prince spoke through him. Timid Aerys always liked that, he felt important, orders and discipline in the camp were, in his eyes, his merit. He was the last to realize that it was not so, and in the end he tore tongues to protect his image.
Aerys loved Barristan, because like the young King, Barristan did not talk much, and like many others, he obediently kept silent while old Aerys did his evil.
The fateful day, when Lord Stark was swallowed by a green beast, Barristan was off duty, but he knew. No one told him, nor did he hear rumors, but only that outcome made sense. The time was such. It seemed that Aerys' reign was coming to an end, and Rhaegar's rise was sensible, but this time the feeling deceived ser Barristan.
Rhaegar. From a distance, the boy King did look like Rhaegar, in black armor, with a red cloak. And a three-headed dragon, Barristan thought. True, but the dragon on the boy's chest was not adorned with rubies. The armor was less decorated, almost rough in its practicality.
He looked at the gathered men with controlled interest, but also mild disappointment, Barristan noticed. Men and boys in front of him were not as skilled or imposing as the Golden Company. Flanked by a few guards, he walked among the men, with a royal stride, a raised head and a sharp gaze. Barristan calmly followed, trying to keep close.
"You sir," the king shouted measuredly and startled Ser Barristan, it was not possible that he was noticed, no one knew him here.
"Yes, you," the king repeated in a softer voice tinged with a smile, "it seems that your bag is wriggling," he pointed his hand at the man. The others shrank and left the boy with the bag alone. Dressed in modest chainmail and helmet, with a candle of House Cave sewn on his vest.
"I, mmmm ... this ... what," the boy muttered, shackled by complete confusion.
"The bag, sir," quietly, so that only those nearby could hear him, but with the fire of authority, the king said. "Open the bag." The boy stared at the king in astonishment, tightly pressing the bag, after which the bag spoke with a quack. Whether to run or stay. Take responsibility, Ser Barristan ment well to the boy. Moments of denial changed the boy, melted the color from his forehead and wrapped him in sweat. He broke down, Barristan saw, after which the boy opened the bag with trembling hands from which a duck jumped out.
"Ser Rolly, you are not the only duck here," the king said with a moderate smile, which elicited a laugh from the others. Barristan did not understand the joke, nor did he need to, he knew what was next. Theft in a war camp is severely punished. Knight replied to the king with a fierce laugh, "I am at least prettier."
Joke amused the king, but only for a moment, and soom his facial expression regained the old mixture of amusement and seriousness. "Where did you get this duck," he asked the boy, who was holding the duck in his hands, after catching it in an attempt of escape. "It seems to me that we have similar ones in stock. Thunderex, what is the penalty for theft?" the king said with an equally amused voice.
"Cutting off the hand," the Summer Islander answered shortly, stroking the cover of his sword, almost twice as big as his compatriot Prince Jalabhar Xho.
"Reason? I suppose it didn't fall from the sky. The comet is not that generous." King turned to the boy again.
"Odddd ... it separated from its mother and siblings," the boy said uncertainly, and Ser Rolly added jokingly, "on my plate I hope."
"And you, sir, were so kind to return it. May the Mother bless you, case resolved," the king said and continued with a threatening tone, pointing his hand, "the supplies are there. It would be better for everyone if there were no more family reunions, because next time, I'm afraid, the affair will not end so happily." He looked away from the stunned boy and went on. Stopping for a moment, he turned back again and addressed Ser Rolly firmly, "Ser Duckfield... and check their weapons. Notice anything that is bad and replace it".
The boy with the duck and a rusty spear looked confused as no one paid attention to him anymore.