"Send out three divisions of thirty mounted men, at the command of Ser Egen, Ser Tylis and Ser Crayne." The Blackfish said, his finger running up and down the large map splayed out over the table, surrounding it were a dozen knights, each one hanging on every word that came out of his mouth, and Jon, trying to keep up with the names and the geography. "That'll be enough to scare off any number of clansmen."
"Ser Crayne isn't available." Spoke the man on the other side of the table, he was Lady Anya Waynwood's second son, Ser Donnel Waynwood.
"Isn't available?"
"His wife gave birth to his heir and he went back to his hold, he'd hoped to return before you arrived."
"Anyone else?" Brynden asked, extending his hand expectedly, and Jon quickly shuffled through the papers he carried and handed him a list of names, the older man's eyes scanned them quickly, before he shook his head, and looked back at to the others in the room. "Why don't you lead them, Donnel?"
"Ser Tully? You have need of me here."
"The worst of the work should be behind us, I can handle whatever's left, you can go scare of the mountain men and be back in time for the tourney." Brynden said, though the man still looked conflicted, but nodded. "You've done an admirable job holding down the fort while I was away, but go, you look like you can use the fresh air."
The man nodded confidently now, before bowing his head and making his way out of the room, Jon would miss him, the two of them had seen much of each other in the past few weeks shadowing the Blackfish, Ser Waynwood as the Blackfish's right-hand man, and Jon as his squire.
They'd arrived in the Vale a month or so ago, leaving the Riverlands, for all of its endless springs and fields behind them, that wasn't to say his new home was hard on the eyes, quite the contrary, the greenery was lighter and the sun brighter than in both the North and the Riverlands, he'd journeyed up to the Eyrie once, and for that day he reigned above the clouds, seeing the rolling hills and mountains for miles around him, until they fell under the horizon in the distance.
An evergreen valley dotted with lakes and rivers of crystal water surrounded by peaks that touched the sky. Jon thought. What a kingdom.
It gave him some perspective on why the northerners were as rough and blunt as they were, scarcity had no time for politeness or mummery, an abundance of wealth however, allowed for much more pomp.
That wasn't to say the land was completely safe however, he remembered their trip along the High Road, the only path from the rest of the kingdoms into the Vale. It was the only time in their journey that Brynden insisted they take turns keeping watch at night, the threat of the mountain clans simply too pervasive. Jon still remembered the hours spent in the dark, the slowest hours of his life, begging the moon to quicken, every dull howl and shadow on the distant peaks sending shivers down his spine and tightening his grip on his hilt.
But after a few days, they had arrived to where he would permanently be staying, the Bloody Gates, where the Blackfish was posted, he'd had plenty of time to acquaint himself with the residence of the castle, Brynden's journey north had left him a backlog of administrative, martial and diplomatic duties weeks long, from food shipments to tally, patrols to organize and a flurry of letters to respond to, this left him little time to attend his squire, even with Jon spending a few hours a day observing the process of managing a castle.
"I think it's time for you to go as well, Snow."
He looked out the window that dominated a large wall in the room, they were in one of the solars at one of the highest towers of the castle, he saw the sun hang a good distance above the mountains in the horizon and nodded, leaving and closing the door behind him.
He had to go find Ser Roland, but there was also something else he'd been putting off, so he walked through the stone corridors and arches to a quiet corner he'd only been in once or twice, and went through one of the many doors.
"Snow?" Baldrick asked, the man was also a northern, though he wore robes and a familiar, long chain around his neck, a maester, though younger than Luwin and closer in age to his father. In front of him were two books he was transcribing, the Gates' library was very bare, especially compared to the one in Winterfell, but the man was doing his best to fill it. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Does Ser Tully have need of me?"
"Nothing of the sort, though I come under his orders." Jon said, moving to stand opposite the Maester. "The blackfish wishes for me to work through a book called Strategy and Tactics by Maester Kellan, he said no squire of his will make a fool of himself in a war council, I was hoping I could borrow it."
"Of course, it is quite a dense work, but few tomes give as accurate an account of warfare." The Maester said, rising to his feet, and moving towards the library behind him, Jon hot on his heels. "Feel free to come to me if you've any questions, I've the iron link for warfare."
"Truly?" Jon asked looking the man up and down as he ran his hands through the shelves, he did not look the warrior, but the maester only laughed.
"I'll have you know I fought in the war of the ninepenny kings before I forged my chain, and there's more to warcraft than the swinging of swords." Baldrick said, pausing and bending down to look through some of the lower shelves. "Consider an army, not every man will be equal, some will be excellently trained and armored, some will be farmers with spears who only train for a couple of days every year at the orders of their liege, some have horses, others will have bows, some will have renown, others will need named men to follow, that's before considering the impact of weather or terrain, nor the food and water needed for an army, how would you condition and order every man to draw the biggest advantage?"
"I've never given it much thought." Jon admitted, briefly wondered how his father had managed his rebellion. "I took more interest in Robert dueling Rhaegar and Daemon dueling Aemond than I did the armies they led."
"That is much of what I studied in the Citadel, and that was much of the reason they sent me to the Gates, the blackfish knows this well enough." The maester said, finally stopping his fingers at the spine of a specific tome, before pulling it out and putting it in Jon's hands. "And he's wise to pass them onto you, they will serve a promising knight like yourself well."
He nodded his head after some thought, he wished to protect his family after all, and in small part to be like the Dragonknight or the Laughing Storm, to be something, someone in spite his bastardy, and this seemed like another way to achieve it.
"I'll be sure to visit you if I've any questions then." Jon finally said, nodding his head to the man. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in a bit of a hurry."
Baldrick nodded his goodbye and Jon scurried out to quickly leave the book in the rooms and go find the knight he was looking for, he descended from the castle to the many courtyards of the castle to begin his search, but still he could not find his query, until he found himself standing in the middle of one of the castle's many courtyard spinning his head about.
"Snow." Said a voice from behind him, it was more feminine than the one he'd been hoping to hear. "You're looking more confused than usual."
"Have you seen Ser Roland?" He asked, ignoring her barb as he turned to her, in her hand she had the lead to a mule she was dragging along. "I've turned the castle upside down looking for him."
"I saw him leading some shitheads out of the castle." She said, he was confused for a second before realization dawned on his face and he buried his head in hands, much to her echoing laughter.
The wargames were today.
"How long ago was this?" He asked, and the girl shrugged.
"A few minutes ago, you can still make it." She said, then walked up and patted him on the arm. "Good luck."
"Thank you, Mya." He said honestly, nodding to her before running off, the girl could be blunt and crass, but she ultimately had a good heart, she reminded him of Arya if she had been born an older sister rather than a younger one. Us bastards should look out for each other. She had told him when he first met her, she was Mya Stone, the daughter of his father's best friend and the king besides, and one of the few tolerable people he'd met in the Vale.
He continued to the armory to fit himself in some shoddy, misfitting padded leather, then found himself a large wooden blade, he walked passed the courtyards and to the gates of the castle, and soon the cobblestone roads turned to mud paths leading up one of the many tall mountains surrounding the castle, walking along a rocky mountain ridge, he took a deep breath of the clean mountain air and a brief view of the valley underneath, it had forests, tilted fields and flower paths alike.
What an extraordinary kingdom.
His path did eventually flatten into a field of black dirt overlooking a wide, slow moving river, spread across it were the fifty or so men he was looking for, split into two groups, though they were far younger than he was expecting.
"Ser Roland." Jon said, walking up to the knight who was standing alone off the side. "I thought I was to train with the knights."
"You haven't impressed me enough." The man said, he was tall, bald and wore a persistent scowl on his weathered face, he gestured towards the two groups. "Go choose a team."
"Because I've only been learning new flourishes, the blackfish—"
"I don't care what the blackfish says." Roland said, crossing his arms decisively. "As long as you're in my charge, you will train as I wish, understood?"
"Yes ser." Jon said through gritted teeth, rather missing Ser Rodrick in Winterfell.
Roland was an unpleasant man, but this was by far the part of his day he looked forward to the most, the Andal method of fighting had been perfected in the Vale and he was slowly learning some of the flourishes and parries the Lord Royce had masterfully executed when he defeated Jon a year ago, and he was determined to learn as much as he could from the knight when the blackfish was busy, which happened to be much of the time.
But he had been looking forward to today the most, war games and mock battles, a chance to test his mettle against the knights of the Vale, the reason he traveled across half the continent, only it seemed it would be the squires of the vale he'd be facing, but at the very least, he would not be bound by the new style he was be learning.
"Snow!" A voice called out to him, it was Tristan, a squire a few years his senior, one Jon had taken a liking to. "Join us."
"Are you sure, Trist?" Another boy next to him said with a scowl, but Tristan waved him off and put an arm around Jon and led him to his side of the field, standing in front of a crowd of boys of similar ages, he handed him a red handkerchief and instructed him to tie it around his hilt, opposite them was a sea of armored bodies with blue hanging from their wrists.
"Everyone, helmets on!" Ser Roland called out to them. "There's a feast waiting back in the Gates for the winning team, the losing team will have a meal of rancid oil and moldy bread, winner is the last one standing, try to keep your strikes above the waist and remember, this is a contest of arms, but consider this also a war, a skirmish with the mountain men, only survival matters, understood!?"
"Yes ser!" a chorus of echos responded.
There was a frantic, almost fanatical mania oozing from the padded leather bodies around him, one that he slowly started to exude as well, an anticipation for a clash like he had never felt before. We should have done this in Winterfell.
"Begin!" the knight said, the words had not left his lips before he heard the boys behind him break into a sprint, and he found himself running forward ahead of them into a sea of charging, screaming bodies, a battlelust he didn't know he possessed boiling in his veins.
The boy in front of him had his sword lifted above his head, the posture was juvenile, he tried to swing it down, but Jon planted his feet, and brutally slammed his wooden greatsword into his exposed sides, throwing the boy several feet into the air before he was even halfway done with the swing.
No more new techniques, no more new flurries, no more holding back. He thought, sidestepping a blade and blocking another. Only instinct.
A boy a couple of years younger than him tried to approach him for a duel, Jon easily batted aside his sword and shield, then kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into two other bodies with blue on their wrists, they tried to regain their balance, but he was upon them an instant, he struck a blade out of a pair of hands and sent it flying into the distance, then swept the feet of another, leaving the three of them lying in a pile on the ground.
He felt some remorse for the child, but he had little patience for it, it was Roland who put him in the same contest as Jon.
"Pick on someone your own size!" he heard from behind him, then felt a hand on his shoulder spinning around to an angry scowl and a fist flying at his face.
Jon slipped his head out of the way, only catching part of the punch on his helmet's cheek as he did, then flowed backwards, and swung his wooden blade at the man's face.
He was rather surprised to see the man bringing his sword up in time to block it, this opponent at least, seemed an adult, who knew how to brace his shield hand and which end of his sword to hold, but ultimately, he was still a squire who had no clue how to react to Jon's next five strikes, all of which bypassed his shield and struck him in his limbs, abdomen and finally face in less than a second.
His next opponent was a shorter man, he tried to trick Jon with a feint, but his feint was never in range to hit him in either case, so Jon ignored the threat and struck back with his own blow, sending him into the mud.
Another tried to shove Jon off his feet, but with perfect poise, he fell back into a shuffle he'd been practicing since he was five, then he bent his knees and exploded forward with a lunge, it slipped passed the man's shield and struck him in the center of his chest, and with a quick trip he was down as well.
Then he heard it, the chaos around him had muted, and there was a blow coming from behind him, aimed directly at his skull, he bent his head and ducked, he avoided having it ring his bells, but it sent his helmet flying off into the distance and caused a burning pain in his ear, one he ignored as he spun around with a vicious blow.
It struck man attacking him in the shoulder, Jon moved to capitalized, but two more swords appeared to cover their comrade.
He glanced around, it seemed as though they were the only ones left standing, around them sat and stood men and boys both in a circle, nursing cuts and bruises and looking on to the fight.
His remaining opponents looked rather mature, having reached their twenties but still eluded by knighthood, their wooden swords were drawn and pointed at him, though none looked eager to take the first move, they slowly broke from their huddle and began encircling him, something he casually allowed.
"Yield!" One of them yelled. "We have you surrounded."
He laughed at that, resting his greatsword on his shoulder as a smile formed on his face, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "I've been surrounded by mediocrity my entire life," he said, I grew up with Theon Greyjoy. "This hardly new."
He heard the one behind him charging him, and Jon spun and swung his sword behind him, as a quick as a hare and as powerful as a bear, the man tried to block, but the force of the blow enough to break the man's guard and send him to the ground.
The other two had charged him in that time, he danced out of the way of the first's blow and tripped him as he passed, then stepped on the sword with of the second man, their eyes met for a brief moment, and Jon saw the terror in them, relished in it even, then slammed his hilt into his face.
He heard the celebration and cheer a moment later, as well as the disappointed sighs and curses from the losing team, soon he was swarmed by a mob of squires who hailed and applauded him, he reveled in it for a moment, but deep inside, he knew.
As nice as it felt, to be in the center of so much attention and praise, war games hardly mattered, sparring with greenbloods and middling grown men meant even less.
It is for war and battle, his father's words echo'd in his mind. It is for the slaughter of men.
sorry for the short chapter, it was kicking my butt and its the end of arc 1! next arcs have more chapters
i forgot to mention but im going with the north being the size of argentina and the rest of the kingdoms being france-germany sized
i have like 80% of arc 3 written but only 40% of arc 2 and 20% of arc 4, so uploads might slow down then speed back up then slow down
also thank you for all the nice reviews, it wont let me do a heart emoji but heart emoji!