310 AC
Samsyn Stark
"Open the gates! Open the gates!" He heard guards call out.
Samsyn stood in the inner bailey of Moat Cailin. He had arrived only a sennight previous, to serve as a ward under his uncle, Lord Edwyle. To his left stood said uncle as well as aunt Roslin. Immediately left of him was his little cousin, Ronnel. To the right of him stood Cley Cerwyn, heir to his family's castle. He had met the boy, who was a couple of years older than him, on their journey south to the Moat. He was an alright lad. Further down the line stood Gawen Glover, Beren Tallhart, and at the end, Ryon Forrester.
But none of the boys had time to really get to know each other, as they all arrived only recently. The reason for the entire household to gather in the bailey? None other than the arrival of a prince of the blood. Raymont Baratheon was currently second in line to the Iron Throne, only after his father, the Prince Regent, in succession.
The large, ironwood gates that defended the southern gate, were opened. Riding in first came a number of mounted men-at-arms and banner-bearers and other men.
Then, two riders in gilded, white armor.
Kingsguard.
His father and grandfather taught him about the brotherhood. Grandfather turned angry when he asked about the White Bull and the Sword of the Morning and others. He didn't know why, but grandmother and father simply shook their heads. They said that he was too young to learn why grandfather disliked them.
And just after them, on much smaller mounts, rode a boy. He was not smiling, though, he wasn't angry. It seemed more nervousness. Behind him, rode a number of other boys as well. Around the same age.
The first Kingsguard approached his uncle and nodded. "Lord Stark; I am Ser Arys Oakheart. With me is my brother, Ser Ellery Vance. We have been commanded by the Prince Regent to accompany and remain with Prince Raymont during the entirety of his sojourn here, unless otherwise ordered to by the King, or the Prince Regent."
"Yes, thank you Ser Arys, Ser Ellery. Prince Stannis sent a raven."
The same knight, apparently Ser Arys Oakheart, nodded. "Yes, my lord. In addition, the Prince Regent has given me plenipotentiary authority over the Prince, in the absence of a blood relative."
His uncle raised his brows at that.
"Fear not Lord Stark. I was once a boy too. The raising of young boys requires a great deal of patience. I swear I shall only utilize this power if I believe it affects the safety of the Prince. Otherwise, I shall respect your methods of wardship."
"Many thanks, good ser. Please, I will have a servant guide you to your chambers during the duration of this stay."
The knight nodded, before turning and gesturing to Ser Ellery to stay with the Prince.
That is when, said prince, approached his uncle. He looked around Donnor's age if a tad older. But infinitely more serious.
"My lord." The young prince began. In a voice different than one would expect. Samsyn thought perhaps he was trying to emulate his father in some way. "Thank you for the welcoming."
Samsyn assumed his uncle caught onto the nervousness of the young prince. He allowed the prince to relax when he let out a chuckle.
"Thank you, my prince. But set your nerves. This is the North! Where men and women are free with their thoughts. Please, introduce me to your companions."
For the first time since the prince entered the castle, he smiled. Evidently the southern boys had longer to get to know each other.
"This is Gunthor Hightower, son and heir to Ser Baelor Hightower." Uncle Edwyle gently shook hands with the young boy.
He moved down the line further. "This is Alyn Blackwood, young son to Lord Blackwood. Jon Egen, son of Ser Vardis Egen, and Qarlton Buckwell, heir to the Antlers."
Samsyn examined the boys. Gunthor of the Hightower seemed to share the prince's anxiety. A young boy, he let the prince have the courage to speak with a lord in his own castle.
Jon Egen seemed to brave from his stance, ready to take on anything. Not in a superfluous way, but in an admirable way…admirable for a child at the least.
Alyn Blackwood seemed to be in shock. Having grown up in his keep of Raventree Hill, the towers and walls of Moat Cailin must have put wonder in the boy's heart.
Steffon Seaworth looked around, as if he felt he shouldn't belong here. Samsyn was told by his grandfather of Steffon's father. He had been a smallfolk before his heroic actions during the Rebellion, and his wise counsel during the Lion's War.
Only Qarlton Buckwell seemed disinterested. Looking all around with disgust, no doubt a southerner through-and-through.
"Thank you my prince." His uncle responded. "You have all had a long journey. Please, take the rest of the day to relax and rest. We will have a welcoming feast prepared for the evening. My thoughts were to allow you and the boys to get to know each other on the 'morrow?"
"And what of the lessons?" Samsyn had been told by his grandfather and grandmother of the Prince Regent. Apparently, he was a dutiful and just man, but a humorless and serious one. It seemed this rubbed off onto his son.
"Fear not my prince. On the second day, I will subject all of you to a strict regimen of lessons, warcraft, sparring, and other necessary skills."
His uncle straightened himself and broadcast to the bailey. "My son, Ronnel, and nephew Samsyn, will welcome you and direct you to your chambers. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have lordly matters to handle of."
Samsyn watched as his uncle nodded to the prince, the Kingsguard, and aunt Roslin before turning and leaving the courtyard.
"Ronnel…Samsyn…why don't you two introduce yourselves." His aunt encouraged.
"Hi!" Ronnel began happily. "Father says you will stay here over a year! Can you believe that! We're going to have so much fun!"
Samsyn grinned but didn't laugh. He approached and bowed from his head, remembering his courtesies from his grandmother. "My prince. You will have to apologize for my cousin. He is…excitable."
"Momma! Did cousin Sam call me a bad word?" Ronnel looked confused.
His aunt had to hide a laugh herself. "No my dear boy. Samsyn simply said that you…enjoy life and having fun."
"Well met, Samsyn." The prince held his hand out to shake as his cousin and aunt spoke.
Samsyn then met all the other boys that had traveled with the prince.
"Your grandfather should be here. Raymont is a prince of the blood! I will make sure my father is aware of this reception."
And that was of course Qarlton Buckwell. He noticed his cousin's face scrunch up like he was going to cry. Samsyn stepped forward to engage.
"That is 'Prince' Raymont to you. You are a long way from the Crownlands. I'd suggest you get used to the First Men of the North."
"Otherwise?" The young boy challenged.
"Otherwise the next few years will be immensely difficult for you."
Said prince spoke. "Calm down Qarlton. Lord Stark did not cause offense. My father spoke of him with great respect."
Samsyn's heart gladdened at that. He would be sure to send a raven to Winterfell to his father and grandfather, informing them of such talk.
The other southern boys also turned their lips and rolled their eyes at the Buckwell's attitude. Samsyn was under the impression that even the others found his company hard to keep.
Each of the southerner's retainers began escorting their boys to their rooms under the direction of servants. But the prince remained in the yard with him. "I must apologize for Qarlton's behavior, my lord."
"Please, call me Samsyn."
"Only if you call me Raymont."
"It's a deal." Both boys smiled as they shook hands.
Samsyn had a feeling that the next few years were going to be great fun.
"I don't know if you've heard Raymont, but your royal uncle is riding north as we speak."
"Uncle Bobby?" The prince's voice lightened to a degree that was expected for his age.
"Aye. My uncle Edwyle received a raven from my great-uncle, the Lord Tully. His Grace left Riverrun a number of days ago. Last word was that he had passed the Twins."
"You have a funny voice." Immediately, the prince's eyes widened, and he stuttered. "Apologies! I'm sorry, that was rude of me!"
Samsyn simply laughed. "No need Raymont! You'll pick up a Northman's tone within a number of moons, I'm sure."
"…aye…" He sounded like he was trying the word out. In the south, they simply said 'yes.' "…I look forward to it."
Samsyn got Ronnel's attention. "Come cousin. Let's show Raymont the Godswood!"
"Oh yes! It's one of my favorite places Ray!" Ronnel had already assigned a nickname to the prince. Before either could respond, Ronnel ran off, no doubt excited to show the Godswood. Samsyn and Raymont followed after him.
Sam decided to begin conversation as they journeyed. "Raymont?"
"Yes?"
"I am curious…what have you heard of my lord grandfather…of my father?"
"You speak truly?!" The prince gave him a look of shock. "Everyone in the capital knows of the Quiet Wolf and the Young Wolf! They're my favorite stories! I remember that Uncle Bobby would tell stories of when he was a boy, about how he was raised in the Eyrie under Jon Arryn! Oh all I would ever want to hear was of the Demon and the Wolf! One time, I was sneaking in the great hall, when I wasn't supposed to. I overheard two lords from the Crownlands talk of what they called business. I didn't catch the whole conversation, but one of them said, 'are you japing! If you do that, we need not worry about the Usurper or the Prince Regent, but the damnable Quiet Wolf!' I don't know what those words mean, but I know that the southerners are pissed-scared of your grandfather!"
Samsyn smiled at that. He had grown up being told how the south treats the North with nothing but contempt. It was heartening to hear that some still held respect for his home.
"Even father, who sometimes even makes mama nervous because of his seriousness, said good things of Lord Stark."
"And my father?"
"Oh yes! Ser Barristan would teach me all the battles that Robb and Edwyle Stark waged during the Lion's War! I have all of them memorized!"
"You do?! I do as well! Which one is your favorite?" Sam asked, enthusiastically.
"Mine is the Siege of Harrenhal! It was brilliant!"
"Mine is the Battle in the Blackwood Vale!"
"But Harrenhal is sooooooo much better!"
"Finally, you two are here, I've been waiting forever!" Ronnel rounded the corner when they finally reached the Godswood of Moat Cailin.
The boys had taken the next day to truly meet. Samsyn discovered that much like the prince, Alyn Blackwood was raised by his father with stories about his own House. Jon Egen was a fearless and adventurous boy. Jon enjoyed the most martial pursuits. And Gunther Hightower enjoyed the smell of flowers. Something the other boys picked him on, but Samsyn thought nothing of it. Steffon Seaworth was interested in naval pursuits, unfortunately, Moat Cailin was not close to a significant body of water to effectively teach such pursuits.
Cley Cerwyn enjoyed riding horses. He once had wished to be a knight. However, his father, Lord Cerwyn, had verbally thrashed the boy so loudly, that Cley never brought it up once more. He no longer wished to be knight; however he was still interested in mounted warfare. Ryon Forrester is a proud lad. Proud of his house, his family, and the First Men in general. He scares easily though. Gawen Glover was among the oldest of the boys sent to the Moat. He was taller than average. He was already well trained with the blade but was no master. Growing up on stories of his uncle and his house, Gawen had a personalized gauntlet made for his sword fist. It was of strong steel. It had small spikes, no longer than fingernail, but on bare or unarmored flesh…it would no doubt cause great pain. Beren Tallhart was the oldest boy at the Moat. In reality, he was already of age to be a man, only, he had not yet shed blood in battle. To the First Men of the North…the true marker of becoming a man.
But it was now the second day since all the parties had arrived to Moat Cailin. And his uncle certainly did not break his word. Each boy had their own room, yet they were all located in the same wings of the same tower. Today, Ser Perwyn Frey, the Master-at-Arms of the Moat and his aunt's brother, entered the tower with a number of men-at-arms and began slamming the doors open and bringing lit torches in the otherwise dark rooms.
"Get up! Up now! What if this was an Ironborn raid? You would all be dead already!"
This is how twelve boys found themselves standing in line in the main yard of the Moat. The sky only began to show the light of the rising sun. Few servants were up let alone the higher-class people.
But before them stood Ser Perwyn, Willard Mandel & Wil Harclay, sworn warriors to Moat Cailin, and…Edwyle Stark. All four of the men were gazing at the boys with disappointment.
"Why was there no sentry posted to your chambers or the wing?"
No one spoke.
"Why?!" His uncle yelled.
"…my lord?" Alyn spoke. Voice fearful. "…we weren't told."
"Weren't told!? Is that what you will tell bandits when you sleep under the stars? Will you tell Ironborn to give you pause so you can prepare?"
Before any of the boys could retort, his uncle nodded to the other three men. They seemed to understand the silent exchange. Samsyn couldn't be sure…but he swore he saw the four men try and hide smirks under their otherwise stoic visages. Uncle Edwyle turned and left.
Ser Perwyn and Wil and Willard stepped forward.
"Your lack of preparation could have meant the death of each and every one of you. As such, all twelve of you will exit the north gate. You will run the perimeter of the castle. All twelve of you, will return before the sun has completely risen."
Qarlton, ever the bravely stupid boy, retorted "Or?"
Ser Perwyn directed a gaze of amusement. "Or none of will have the right to break your fast."
Silence reigned as the twelve boys, including a prince of the blood, heard that. Then, all of them continued to pay attention to the southerner-turned-Northman.
Ser Perwyn widened his eyes and gestured for the gate. "What are you waiting for? The sun certainly isn't waiting!"
Samsyn…Samsyn never ran so fast in his life.
He felt as if he was ready to cough up a lung. Moat Cailin was not a small castle. Far from it actually. But he had made it. He had entered through the north gate once more. The sun still hadn't raised itself completely from its slumber.
Waiting for them was Ser Perwyn, Wil and Willard. As well as the Steward of Moat Cailin, Gable Fenn. Before the Steward was a long table. Situated were portioned plates of eggs, black sausage, and crispy potatoes.
Once most of the boys regained their breathe, Jon Egen stepped forward to take some food to break his fast.
"What do you think you are doing?" Ser Perwyn asked.
"Ser?"
"You heard what I said."
"I did…but forgive me ser, I am confused."
"You left to run with twelve."
"Yes?"
"I only count eleven."
All the boys turned and realized that Alyn wasn't with them. A moment later, Alyn slowly jogged into the castle, heaving.
"I said that you would have the right to eat if all twelve of you arrived before the sun broke." He turned to the Steward. "Gable, I'm sure you can find some servants who wish for a larger breakfast."
Gable Fenn quietly nodded and had servants gather the food to have it eaten somewhere else. All of the boys gazed at the rapidly retreating food as if it were an angel coming from the Old Gods themselves.
It was quiet in the yard for a moment before Ser Perwyn grinned.
"Well…whose ready for some sparring?"
Samsyn could swear he heard actual curses from under many boys breathes.
He was sure of one thing. It didn't matter if you were the future Lord of Winterfell if you were a prince of the blood. Edwyle Stark would be damned if he raised unworthy men.
Samsyn came to the realization that the next few years would be far more interesting than he ever could have hoped for.