Robert Redwyne disliked Tyler Hill immediately. The man looked at him with such disdain and condescension one could have thought he was a trueborn Lannister. Even Father – for all that Robert wasn't blind to Manfryd Redwyne's ever-present air of superiority – carried himself better when talking to his subordinates, and Tyler Hill wasn't even Robert's direct higher-in-command.
"Your City Watch needs a lot of help to stand on its legs, that's clear enough," Tyler Hill said dryly barely after the formal introductions were over.
Robert held his breath and counted to five in his head. He had developed this method after the many hours he had spent questioning thieves and murderers.
"Yes, Ser Tyler, it does indeed," he said. "I believe a proper recruiting campaign is needed in the crownlands. Her Grace has agreed to raise the wages of the watchmen, so I only need someone to help me find new good fighters."
"Huh," said Tyler, and Robert couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic, understanding, or simply politely filling the silence – but he leaned towards the first option. "What about the barracks?"
"What about them?"
"Show them to me," Tyler snapped, and Robert felt his barely-restrained anger burst at such insolence:
"Ser Tyler, I must remind you that you are addressing the heir to the Arbor."
"I was addressing you, Ser Robert, as someone who does the same job as myself. You've been leading the City Watch since the Shivers: I wonder you haven't learned to dispense with the courtesies."
"We don't need to sink to the smallfolk's level to get thieves and robbers caught!"
"Wrong," Tyler scoffed. "That's precisely what we need to do. What you need to do, if you want the Watch to become anything beyond a fancy decoration. Have you ever been in a war, Ser Robert?"
"No," he admitted.
"It shows. Well, I have. I was with Aegon at the Gods Eye. Trust me, in the heat of battle you only open your mouth to curse."
"You're wrong," Robert said firmly. "Battles are one thing, but we aren't in battle now. Without proper conduct, there's no way we can hold the Watch together."
However, he immediately feared that if Tyler Hill felt too offended, he'd just pack and leave: from what he could see, the bastard was treated very well by his trueborn relatives, and this could lead to a falling-out with the entire Lannister family.
"I've been in charge of Lannisport's Watch for many years," Tyler remarked, "and I've done a pretty good job of it."
They're probably either used to your ways or afraid to oppose the Lannisters, Robert thought. Aloud, he said:
"Well, we shall try to see whose conduct is better. Let me show you the barracks."
"See? There was no point in wasting several minutes discussing manners," Tyler remarked when they were already on their way.
The barracks were admittedly not in the best condition – they were built back in the Conqueror's day, and although Robert had them cleaned regularly, there hadn't been a major repair since before the Shivers broke out. However, Robert believed they were looking presentable enough – the construction was solid, and the materials were good. Tyler, though, grimaced in disgust the moment the barracks' central section came into view.
"That's where your watchmen live?" he exclaimed, incredulous. "Our fucking prisons are better."
"I thought you were just advocating for roughness and simplicity," Robert said.
"In speech, yes. And I'm not saying watchmen should live in the royal chambers. But who'd even want to go serve in the Watch when all you have to offer is beetle-eaten shacks? We've passed through the crownlands, and trust me, most of the peasants' houses look nicer."
Robert was getting rather sick of all that complaining. Right now, he felt, he would pay all the gold of Arbor just to get this whiny bastard to leave.
"Before we even get to the recruiting, we have to do something about the barracks," Tyler continued. "Thankfully, we're going to have drier weathers soon, so getting more wood won't be too difficult. Do you have any builders you trust?"
"Er... I don't know yet."
"Well, it's time you found them," Tyler's expression clearly showed that he had a lot more to say about Commanders who hadn't repaired their barracks in two years, so Robert quickly blurted out the first thought that came to his head:
"How about stone barracks?"
The bastard's eyebrows rose:
"Stone barracks?"
"Yes! I mean – if we are doing those repairs, might as well go all the way."
"It won't be cheap. Lord Stark, from what I've heard of him, wouldn't like that. Or are you planning to pay for that with your own gold as well?"
"He'll see it will be cheaper than repairing the wooden ones every now and then," the more Robert thought about the idea, the more merit he saw in it. "Even the winter town has stone houses, and it's half-abandoned in warm weathers," his younger brother Rick went with King Jaehaerys on the Northern progress, so Robert had some knowledge of Winterfell and its surroundings.
"If you want to use something firm, better have bricks," said Tyler. "Our barracks are located underground, but we've got some brick-and-wood structures put up there, against floodings."
Underground? Robert marveled at these westerners. He had heard of the famous caves of the Lannisters, and the Reynes, and all the other gold-mining families of the westerlands, but he had no idea they were used for such simple matters as housing the City Watch.
"And," Tyler added, "better start on the rebuilding quickly. Recruitment is best conducted in spring and summer, and who knows how long this summer's going to last?"
"Your Grace, there has been a raven from Nightsong," Grand Maester Elysar said.
Aemon could feel his own nerves strain. Whenever the Grand Maester said a raven had arrived, he was on edge before the letter was even read: every time, composing an answer to the many nobles who begged or demanded or expected favors from their king was a tedious and horribly exhausting process.
Now that Mother was nursing little Creg, she couldn't sit on the Iron Throne, so Aemon's throne room training hours increased dramatically. At least Mother was in the throne room now, Creg in her arms, and Aemon didn't have the worry about them to deal with like on the day of the birth.
Aemon didn't know what to think of his youngest brother so far. As far as he could tell, Creg was a wrinkled pink bundle that sometimes cried and sometimes slept: he vaguely remembered that Alyssa used to be like that, too. But he certainly didn't have the patience to sit and look at Creg for many minutes, like, say, Alarra did – she even sang Northern songs to the baby, and he seemed to like her voice because he dozed off when she sang.
But right now, Alarra was away helping her favorite mummers with their new living-quarters, and Creg was feeding (several ladies stood in front of Mother to hide her from the other's view), so there was no question of Mother offering any help.
"Yes, Grand Maester?" Aemon smiled weakly. Nightsong, that's House Caron, Lord Morton. He had been forced to learn all the noble houses of Westeros by heart almost two years ago, and the Grand Maester made sure to make him repeat the list every few weeks. Even the multiplication table wasn't as important, he explained: a king could delegate a monetary problem to the master of coin, but there was no way he could say "My lord, please let me consult with my Hand since I don't remember which family you belong to."
"It's from Lord Rogar Baratheon who is currently staying in Nightsong," said the Grand Maester. "There is good news: the Vulture King and traitorous Borys Baratheon have been vanquished and killed in battle."
"That's excellent indeed!" Aemon said. From what he heard, the so-called rebellion in Dorne had no chances from the start, but it was relieving to know that there was definitely no danger from that region anymore... for now, at least. "Lord Rogar and his warriors have served the crown very well. They will be lavishly rewarded once they return."
It was odd, though, that the Grand Maester was telling him the contents of the letter instead of presenting it to him for reading. It meant that he had already shared the news with Mother, Lord Stark, or Septon Barth, but he hadn't done so ever since Aemon learned to read!
"But there's some unpleasant news too, Your Grace. In the battle with the Vulture King, Lord Rogar had been badly wounded. The letter has been dictated: only the signature and seal are his own. He can't travel now, and it is uncertain when he can reach either his own keep or the capital."
Oh. Aemon realized that rather than being "bad", the wound was grievous, and Uncle Rogar was uncertain if he would survive to leave Nightsong at all. That was why Grand Maester Elysar told Mother about it beforehand and didn't let him read the letter – to avoid it being a shock to him.
He wasn't really sure how to feel about it – Uncle Rogar had never been a large presence in his life, although, of course... Lynnie! It dawned on him that she would be absolutely devastated if her father died, especially since it would leave her completely parentless.
"Uh, I am deeply sad to hear that," he said, glancing at Mother and Lord Stark to make sure he didn't make any mistake. He rarely received such kind of news: usually he learned of nobles' deaths after it happened, and he knew what to do in that case (send the condolences, ask Septon Barth to pray for the soul, raise a toast to the virtues of the deceased during the evening dinner, attend the funeral if it's in the crownlands...). "I hope... er... that he recovers. I will make sure there are prayers for his health at the royal sept."
He clenched his lips tight, trying to think of anything else Lord Rogar could need. Medicines? Lord Rogar had several personal maesters attending him, plus the maester of Nightsong, and if he did want for anything, he would have mentioned it in the letter. Some event like an army parade or a ball in his honor? But he wouldn't even know how it went on, being hundreds of miles away...
Lynnie, he recalled again.
"I believe Ly... Lady Jocelyn would want to be by her father's side. I will arrange for a retinue for her so that she could go to Nightsong as soon as possible."
Luckily, he added to himself, Lynnie wasn't in the throne room now (he had a suspicion Mother arranged for her absence after reading the letter): they would be able to tell her about her father in private. Mother and Septon Barth had always had that gift to tell bad news in a soft way.
"Should we consult her brother on that matter?" the Grand Maester asked. "He might want to send a retinue of stormlanders with her."
Now Aemon was feeling out of his depth. He swallowed, looked around frantically, and tried to think what to do. Would Boremund really be offended that his sister was guarded by soldiers from the crownlands? On the other hand, he was so stuck-up he could take issue with that... But Boremund wasn't even of age, he was taken care of by Lord Garon, and Aemon didn't know much about the latter and what he would decide...
"Your Grace, I believe sending a raven to Storm's End and waiting for Lord Boremund's answer will take precious time," Septon Barth's mild voice spoke up. Aemon turned to him with a grateful smile, his head spinning in relief. "Besides, it is likely that Lord Boremund has also received news of his father's condition and can be preparing to go to Nightsong himself as well, so he will be much too busy to make arrangements for Lady Jocelyn in addition to that."
"Thank you, Septon, I share your opinion!" Aemon said. His heart fell for a moment when he saw Lord Stark briefly frown, but, remembering not to dwell on his mistakes (though what was the mistake now?), he went on:
"Lord Tyrell, Lady Tyrell, please see to the preparation of a transport for Lady Jocelyn. Lord Commander Morrigen, select the guards best suited for protecting her."
There was a murmur of "Yes, Your Grace", and Aemon noticed, with relief, that both Lord Stark and Mother (she had finished nursing Creg, who was now slumbering contentedly in her arms) were looking happy now.
After he was allowed to leave the throne at last, Lord Stark explained to him where he had done wrong: when Septon Barth was in the throne room, especially in front of many people and not just the small council, he had to be addressed as "Lord Hand", not "Septon".
"Many already resent him for his low birth, so you should always remind them that you, like your father, consider him a political advisor and not just a spiritual one," he said.
"Do you resent him, my lord?" Aemon blurted out and immediately regretted it, feeling it was far too personal to ask. But he was simply curious: he knew that Lord Stark didn't follow the Seven, so he wondered what he thought about a septon holding such a high position.
"I don't," Lord Stark said. Apparently, he wasn't offended at the question. "Worthy people from the smallfolk can even be raised to the nobility – look at your mother's sworn shield – and since Septon Barth has been serving the crown well for many years, there's no reason to doubt his worth. The only people who resent him are those who had wanted the position for themselves or some relative of theirs, and I'm not among them."
He looked at Aemon closer:
"Were you afraid of asking about that? Don't be. You could have worded the question better, but if you need my – or your mother's – opinion of anyone else from the court, in private, you should ask about it straightaway. As king, you have to consider everyone's opinions, and at least Alysanne and I won't lie to you about our own."
"Can I accompany Jocelyn, please?" Alarra asked shyly.
Her color was heightened, her voice trembled, and it wasn't hard for Alysanne to figure out why she was so eager to join the retinue:
"You want to see Mandon Chelsted, don't you?"
Alarra blushed even further and stared at her shoes.
This had to be handled very carefully. Alysanne knew that discouraging a young girl's feelings would only strengthen them tenfold, so if they tried to do that, Alarra, aware about the history of her own marriage to Jaehaerys, might decide to marry Ser Mandon in secret. For that same reason, though, Alysanne was very reluctant about letting her go to Nightsong. At four-and-ten, Alarra was already realizing her womanly nature to the full extent, and all the rules of propriety instilled in her mind could get clouded by passion if she saw Ser Mandon. Meanwhile, the latter was likewise way too young to think straight if he saw Alarra was clearly fascinated by him, especially when he was probably dizzy with his own heroics (the letter spoke in glowing terms about his defeat of Borys Baratheon).
But how could one explain it to a lovelorn fourteen-year-old?
"You might offend him if you rush to see him like that," Alysanne said at last. "He views you as a fair lady from the ballads and songs, someone who waits for him at the grand castle and will cheer for him at the large tourney."
"Oh," Alarra murmured. "I didn't think of that."
"If he sees you have gone on to meet him, in a traveling dress, in a wheelhouse, that magic will be gone. Besides, if you show your joy too openly, others, such as Lord and Lady Caron, could think you are already betrothed to him, and it would be extremely offensive to Ser Mandon: nobody would want to be betrothed behind their own back, without a formal ceremony and all."
"Oh," Alarra repeated. "Then... can I send him a gift?"
"When we see him back at the capital, darling. Sending him a gift with Jocelyn's retinue would again be far too forward."
"I see, Alysanne. So... so should I prepare a handkerchief, for example, for when he visits King's Landing again?"
"Certainly," she smiled. "I think he'll like that."
When she left, dreamy-eyed, to start with the embroidery immediately, Alaric looked at Alysanne gratefully:
"I wouldn't have managed that, sweetest."
"Believe me, it was not easy," Alysanne smiled. "I can only thank the women's court and the many mothers I've learned from... One wrong word, and in Alarra's eyes, I'd have turned into the evil stepmother who stands in the way of her love."
"Well, let's see what it comes to two years later. This knight's no coward, of that at least we can now be certain."
She gave Alaric a kiss on the cheek, but they had no time for anything more tender: there was an audience to attend. Ser Robert Redwyne and Ser Tyler Hill had already come up with some ideas about the City Watch and had asked Alysanne and Alaric to hear them out as soon as possible.