Ned
The stench made his nose coil in disgust as darkness swirled around him, the walls were only illuminated by the dancing flames the gaoler carried with him. It showed the sad scene before him, and Ned could see the reason for the smell. Ser Hugh's head lay smashed open like a crushed melon from repeatedly smashing his head against the stone wall. Crimson red pooled around the cold, filthy floors as a rat gnawed on a piece of flesh. A grizzly end as any. He twisted around. "How has this happened?" Ned asked.
"Sorry milord. I found him like this. No one snuck in. I swear it by the Seven." If the man was lying, he did it well. Ned could find no deceit in the man's face. "Likely guilt milord I'd wager."
Mayhaps, Ned thought. Mayhaps Ser Hugh, overcome with guilt, took his own life to safeguard his honor. Or he was silenced by whatever master he worked for? The Mountain killed Ser Loras in the tourney and in the melee Ser Hugh had made an attempt on his nephews life. Somehow it was connected in this web of corruption and plots he liked little. It made his head spin, thinking of it. Lannisters. Tyrells. All of them agents of dishonor. Which one of them did it, if any? Ned had wished to interrogate Ser Hugh to discover the truth and seek justice for his nephew, but he supposed he would never know the truth lay unmoving in the bowels of the black cells.
"What do you want done with the body, milord?"
Ned thought about it. "Place the head on a spike and throw the body over the walls."
A man of dishonor deserved nothing less.
Unlike the foul smell of the dark cells, the Great Hall smelled of rich food from the kitchens. Pleasant to the nose. Roasted chicken or duck coated in a thick sauce of gravy. Richer than any food served in his own halls as singers and performers entertained for them. Sweet songs that his daughter Sansa enjoyed. Servants carried ale and wine for any who wish it, but the halls were not a cheery place. The Lords of the Vale, subdued by the news of Lord Arryns injuries, drank little worried over the future of the Vale. Lannister and Tyrell men were little better. No love existed between either of them. Only a spark would cause it all to go up in flame. If it were not for his northman, the halls would be quiet. Almost everyone. Ned thought. Beside of him on his throne, Robert wore a royal black velvet doublet decorated with a crowned golden stag. Laughing as hard as they did as boys. He was stone sober, not a drop of ale the entire night. Tonight, I shall wear the crown and he shall be free. Next to him, the queen sat poised and collected, smiling at some song. Ned had never seen her looked so pleased. It disquieted him. At the foot of the throne, the Knights of the Kingsguard, in their white cloaks as white as snow, stood stalwart. They were a thin order. Two of its members, the Kingslayer and Ser Arys, were outside of the capital. Two more had fallen in defense of the Crown. Only Ser Barristan, Ser Preston, and Ser Meryn remained to defend Robert.
Tonight it changes… Ned thought with sadness.
"ALRIGHT! YOU LISTEN TO ME YOUR KING!" Robert roared, and the halls quieted when the king spoke you listened. "Ser Barristan, my Lord Commander, has need of two new sworn brothers. Men of the white cloak. A fine honor, a fine honor." Men lowered their glasses as every knight looked at the crown with hope. It was the greatest wish for any skilled knight to be elevated to the white cloak. All eyes followed Robert, whom relished in the spotlight. "Ser Robar of House Royce, step forward and claim your reward."
The youth dressed in his finest doublet for the feast day strolled forward with the confidence of a young man and went to his knees. "Your grace, I'd be honored to serve the Crown." He said with perfect courtesy. A knight of the Vale through and through. Ser Barristan draped a white cloak around his shoulders.
"Arise Ser Robar Knight of the Kingsguard."
The Great Halls exploded in cheers as Lord Yohn, the boy's father, clapped louder than all of them. Robar Royce was well liked amongst the Lords of the Vale his nephew had chosen wisely.
"Alright! Alright!" Robert waved them down. "I still have one more spot to fill!" Clapping fizzled out as they all leaned forward. "Jon Snow, come forward and claim your spot as a man of the Kingsguard!" A moment of silence. It was his daughters who led the cheer. Sansa even whistled in encouragement as Arya led out a loud whoop. The Northman answered the cry of the daughters of Winterfell with cheers that echoed to the Gods above. Ned joined them, trying to mask the sadness in his heart. I did not wish him to wear the white. Lyanna would curse him, but when Ser Barristan went to King Robert, advocating for his squire, he could scarcely deny him. It would draw too much attention. A bastard becoming a Knight of the Kingsguard was beyond a high honor and Jon wanted it. Even though he didn't know what he would be giving up with it.
Jon approached the throne and went to his knees. "Your grace." He said. "But I am no knight."
Robert smiled. "No matter! Ser Barristan knight your squire."
"Gladly, your grace."
"Jon Snow," he began with pride touching the blade to his right shoulder, "in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave." The sword moved from his right shoulder to his left. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just." Back to the right. "In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent." The left. "In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women." By the end, all Ned felt was guilt as he draped the white cloak around his shoulders. Robert embraced them both and declared them fine young knights who will earn great honor and glory. Queen Cersei kissed them both on the cheek as Robert wandered to the center of halls with a wistful smile on his face.
"Listen well to me, your king." Robert said. "You've all come here thinking this is a feast to end the Tourney of the Hand, but it's a farewell." He paused and laughed. "Ah, Damn me. I might actually miss you miserable lot!" One only heard breathing as the hall became as silent as a tomb.
"Robert?" His brother asked as confused as everyone.
Robert drew his sword into the open. "I'm made for fighting, and I'm still young enough!" He declared, pounding his chest. "I'm going to the lands of Essos to feel blood against my face once more and to know the sound of battle, as is a man's right. I doubt I shall return. No." Robert grinned. "This is farewell! "He twisted and pointed at him. "Ned shall be regent in my absence and shall serve you all well. I will have everyone last one of you swear him oaths of loyalty, or I shall cut you down where you stand like I did the dragon!" His voice boomed and Ned dipped his head dutifully as Robert granted him a responsibility as large as the realm itself.
"Robert my swe-"
"HOLD YOUR TOUNGE WOMAN!" Robert declared. "Ned is regent of the Iron Throne in my absence and that is final! I'm still King of the fucking Seven Kingdoms! And if any of you make me come back from my trip, I'll cave you in!" He roared, and all knew Robert to be honest. If he returned, it would be to take heads.
"STARK! STARK! STARK!"
"THE REGENT OF WINTER!"
"THE HOUR OF THE WOLF COME AGAIN!"
All Ned wished was to be home in Winterfell. Now, I'm Regent. A King in all but name.
Dozens of Northman screamed out his name in a chant, and the men of the Vale joined in, but when Ser Barristan went to his knees solemnly Neds heart broke. "Your grace." He said. "Our oaths are sworn to the king. Let us accompany you to whatever end." Five swords went to Robert's feet. Jon's sword among them.
"I accept." And lifted them up with an easy laugh.
Promises were being broken, and he was helpless to keep them as men congratulated him and praised him as a man of honor. He shook hands cordially with Ser Kevan Lannister and Renly Baratheon alike. Neither said a word of protest against him.
The sounds of cheers echoed in his skull, even in the bowels of the Tower of the Hand. I shall take up residence in the kings tower soon. Ned rubbed his temples. Dozens of knights had offered their swords to Robert as well; claiming they wished to seek glory and the thrill of battle. Ned sat busy studying Robert's plans. It was oddly well considered. Robert had thought of everything for the expedition, even guessing roughly the amount of men that would accompany him. If only he showed this much care for affairs of the state…
When Ned lifted his nose from the buried parchment at the sound of Jory opening the door. A phantom of a dream walked towards him. "You are not real. Simply a shadow of a dream."
"It is I, Ned." Cat voiced with a smile. "I'm no dream."
"Cat?" He stood agape. "The boys?"
"Are well and hale." Cat said as he embraced her. How long has he wished to feel her in his arms again? Every night it ached being apart from her. What reason could she have come? Cats duty was in Winterfell helping Robb.
"Why are you here lady wife?" He asked.
She paled as white as milk.
Ned gripped her hands in worry. "You tremble, love?"
"I bring poor news." Cat said her hand removing white parchment from her breast. "Read and you'll understand."
Ned read, and when he was done, he sat down. "The woman is mad." He said in disbelief. Lysa Tully claimed to have murdered her own husband at the urging of Lord Baelish. Was it true? She spoke once, the same of the Lannisters, but Jasper Arryn had dismissed it. Yet, at his own lips, he admitted she had tried to slay his own brother. Did she conspire to kill her husband? Poison was a woman's weapon. "Do you think it true, Cat?" She knew her sister the best amongst the two of them. "Do you think she is capable of such?"
"I know not. I did not think her capable of hurting a child of her loins." Cat admitted with a sigh. "It's possible, my lord, but what has happened to our nephew?"
Ned told her and they both seem to wonder the same thing. Is this connected? Mayhaps Lord Baelish is the one behind it all. He was certainly capable of such a deed, but he failed to see the benefit to him and the man would only do something if it benefited him. He did not have a decent bone in his body and no qualms about such dishonorable acts.
"By the Seven Ned, what shall we do?"
Soon he would be Lord Regent and would have the authority to seek justice for Jon Arryn. "Once Robert departs the realm, his absence shall confirm my appointment as regent. I shall send a raven to your father and brother to have Lysa transported to the capital, where she shall answer the charges of murder." Ice filled his voice. "And Lord Baelish, I shall throw in chains awaiting his trial."
"You cannot!" Cat declared, surprising him. "you cannot make our nephew choose between his mother and justice. It would drive a wedge between us." She warned. "No boy wouldn't defend his mother. He will defend her, Ned. You must see this."
"And what? You think I shouldn't seek justice?" He scoffed. " If Jon Arryn was murdered, I must uncover the truth, Cat, and I shall have the authority to do so. Our nephew shall understand." He caressed her cheek.
Cat shook her head in disagreement. "I think you are wrong, husband." She paused and whispered. "We have more dishonorable options to consider."
"Such as what?" Ned asked.
"Ned, my sister is clearly unwell. If any ill was done, I'm certain it was only Petyr's doing." She said with desperation in her voice. "If we just quietly get rid of him." A kind word for murder. Ned thought. "For the good of our family. It would be easier for all involved."
Ned sighed. "It would not be honorable, Cat. I'm the Lord Regent. I have a duty to the realm to act justly." He held firm. "And if Lysa Tully had a hand in Jons demise, she shall have to pay for it."
"Very well Ned." Cat demurred. "But don't throw Petyr in the dark cells. He loves me still. Give me the chance to garner a confession from him while he remains unaware. When Lysa arrives, then we can toss him in the cells." And that gave him some pause. It could prove useful if she wrangled some secrets from his own lips. Useful for the mans trial. His nephew remained well protected in his quarters under constant guard. Lord Baelish could do him no harm. A mummers farce he would have to play for the good of the realm. My realm…
A frightening thought as he held Cat in his arms.
Jasper
Tears flowed down his cheeks, hard and cold. Fingers wrapped tightly around a pudgy throat. A voice begged him to snap it in two like a twig. It would be as easy as taking a breath. Justice needed to be harsh. She tossed Robert through the Moon Door. My brother she would have killed him. Her skin turned purple, and he laughed bitterly. "It didn't have to be this way." He judged. "But you made your choice." Robert wailed in the distance. "Let mommy go! GO! GO! GO!" Weak little fists struck his leg.
"Stay out of this!" Jasper said, pushing him to the floor. Far too rough for his frail brother.
"Mommy!" His brother wept and shuddered violently on the cold stone floor.
Jasper's anger vanished like a wisp of smoke. Mother no longer mattered. Justice forgotten. "Brother," He said. "It's going to be okay. I promise, I promise." Jasper cradled him in his lap, as he tried to soothe him. "Please be okay." His voice cracked pale with worry. Eventually, the shaking subsided, and he picked him up. Maester Colemon needed to see him.
"MY SON! YOU CAN"T TAKE MY ONLY SON FROM ME!"
Jasper ignored her and made for the door. Only Robert's health was important.
"THE GODS CURSED ME WITH YOU! YOU LIVED WHERE YOUR OTHER BROTHERS AND SISTERS DIED! I WOULD TRADE YOUR LIFE FOR ANY OF THEM!" Her voice echoed off the wall as hurtful as always. Always painful. Unlike mothers in the songs he loved, she bore no love for him. He had dreamed of changing her mind one day, but this dream died in the cradle.
"And you have no sons." Jasper said with steel. "As long as I draw breath, you will see neither of us again." Screams and curses swirled around him as he carried his sickly brother away. Away from a madwoman pretending to be a mother.
Jasper woke up and Princess Myrcella remained curled up asleep in the chair beside his bed. Shadows underneath her eyes and tired lines that gnawed at him with guilt. I did this! I did that to her! If he was wiser, he never would have entered the melee. Never should have trusted Ser Hugh! Why did he betray him? He supposed he would never know. They found the man dead in his cell before his uncle could question him. I should have been the one to swing the sword. If he was only more capable, he never would have been in such a position. If only he didn't expend himself saving the fucking bastard from a beating, he probably deserved. A thousand ifs lay on his tongue as he grew frustrated, staring at the ceiling. Frustrated by the lack of progress in his recovery. He couldn't reside in this accursed bed a moment longer. Three days they said he slept and for two days he had remained a captive of soft sheets and silk bandages wrapped around his chest and head. Chains of comfort!
I need to get up! I need to do something! I need to show House Arryn remains strong!
Dull pain shot through his chest, but he ignored it and flung both legs over the edge of the bed. Jasper wobbled as his head pounded something fierce. He walked a few steps to his wardrobe to dress for the day. Then he would go to the stables for a ride. Yes, I need to feel air on my face. I need to feel like I'm not a failure. A failure to the name Arryn. I need Myrcella to be happy again. Jasper thought. "What are you doing?!" Her voice surprised him and he lost his balance, stumbling to the ground. Jasper cursed before biting his tongue until blood flowed. He was in the company of a woman. "Guard!" She called. One of his knights entered and Jasper lifted his arm reluctantly around him as he returned him to his prison.
"Are you hurt? Should I send for Maester Pycelle?" Princess Myrcella asked.
"I'm fine." He lied. "I need no more milk of the poppy. I don't need these bandages. I'm not some wounded sparrow."
"What would Ser Brynden tell you if he were here?" It was beyond clever on her part to invoke his name. Jasper slouched and swallowed. "Don't be a damn fool and just rest." He grumbled.
"I would agree with him! Now rest, I command it as a princess as well!" She wrapped the soft sheets around him with a satisfied smile.
Jasper resigned himself to his fate for another day. He twisted away from her and said. "I wish you to go." He forced himself to say. "Feel the sun on your face and talk with your ladies over womanly things. Laugh. Feel joy. Enjoy the company of others. Smell the roses in your garden, but I want you gone."
"My lord, I wish not to go."
"You called me a fool once, but I name you one as well, princess." He said. "Sunken tired eyes and pale skin tell me so. I bring you nought, but pain in this stuffy tower. I will not hurt you any longer. Nor shall I let you hurt yourself on my account." He swallowed. "I've already failed enough." Leave me. Everyone always leaves me. Leave me to my duty. Let me be Lord Arryn. It's all I'm good for.
He didn't need to see to know her eyes were squinting at him. "Unless you wish to have me dragged out kicking and screaming, I fear you are stuck with me."
Jasper twisted around violently. His temper flared. "You name me stubborn and claim you are not. I'm not blind. I see the impact and still you persist. Why? I cannot see the reason." He softened. "It hurts for me to see you suffer so."
"It hurts for me as well, Jasper, but I fear it would hurt more to stay away." It made his heart melt like snow in the heat of summer. "Do you wish to afflict such pain?" She asked him and he shook his head. Jasper knew he cared too much to do that.
He swallowed and leaned back against the pillows. "Now be a good boy and let me take care of you." She beamed with a bright smile. "I shall nurse you back to health, as you say, like a wounded sparrow. My wounded sparrow." She said those last words with fondness. "A very stubborn sparrow." Stroking a strand of auburn hair between her fingers.
"Do you care for me so, princess?"
"Yes, Jasper." She replied, as if he had said something silly. "I care for you deeply."
As a boy, he had read stories of injured knights nursed to health by their lady loves after a duel against dark hearted villains. How he loved those stories! But he never dared to hope he could achieve such. It was unlordly to wish for softness. Before the melee, he had wished to say other words to express the feeling in his chest. Jasper thought he had a lifetime to tell her, but life was fleeting. The Stranger almost claimed him and she never would have known the truth. "I love you Princess Myrcella. I wish to say such be-" He never finished as she attacked him with her lips. Sweeter than strawberries, he deepened the kiss, giving into the warmth he felt for her surrendering to its gentle call. It may have gone further, but she pressed too roughly against his chest and he winced in pain. He pulled away and Myrcella was red as a tomato, and he was likely no different.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." She squealed. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." He grimaced.
"Oh, I did!" She pressed her lips to his chest in a gentle kiss. "Better?"
Jasper grinned like a fool as the bitterness in his chest faded away. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel happy as he caressed her soft hands. They were small compared to his own. Maybe he was less a failure than he thought. He could still keep his oaths as long as he drew breath. Sweet Princess Myrcella seemed to believe in him. He hoped that he could be a good Lord of the Eyrie. A man of honor. If she believes in me, then maybe I can accomplish it. He kissed her hand and told her he still wished for her to depart to get some air and feel the sun on her skin, but he would like to see her for lunch. She pouted her lips and pleaded to stay, but he held firm and she conceded to his wishes with a loud sigh.
"I hope this isn't some attempt to escape."
"I'm not that clever." Jasper winked and smiled as she giggled in reply. When she left him, he drifted off back to sleep. He was bored out of his mind without Myrcellas company and she wished him to rest so he did, even if a part of him wished to write letters to his grand uncle reporting on the changing events on the ground. The death of Ser Loras. Ser Hughs attempting slaying. King Robert declaring he shall head east to seek glory and battle like a warrior king of old. Lord Stark being named Regent of the Iron Throne. Aunt Catelyn had arrived as well, claiming she missed her girls. Even if Jasper thought it strange. She missed her girls, but not Bran? Still, it was nice to see her. I should write to my wards as well. I need to see how Prince Tommens lessons are progressing. The capital had changed much since his arrival. Lord Stark's accension would force his hand regarding Lord Baelish. His uncle would not wish the man to hold his post as Master of Coin and he could not let the post fall to a non Valeman. Nestor Royce would have to be named to the-
Jasper dozed off.
When he woke up, it was to the sight of a long face and icy grey eyes. "Why did you do it?" She voiced as fierce as always. The Stark blood ran thick in her veins, unlike her siblings, as savage as the lands in which she was born. It shocked him she was here at all. She hated him with a passion as much as he hated Harry. I would never visit Harry if he were hurt. That lone dinner he had with them was disastrous. Arya looked as if she wished to skewer him with a steak knife and feed him to that wolf of hers.
His uncle and aunt arrived to wish him well, and he handled them with courtesy. Aunt Catelyn looked at him with some guilt that made him sheepish. Cousin Sansa came once with Myrcella and gave him a scarf she knitted. He thanked her, but it was just the polite niceties expected from kin. But he expected them. Arya was entirely different.
None of them were family. He was just a stranger to them. I mean little to them. An ally in these political affairs nothing more. Jasper thought bitterly.
Jasper rubbed his eyes. "Afraid you are going to have to be more specific, cousin." He yawned and relaxed, stretching his arms behind his head, pleased by the scowl on her face.
"Why did you help my brother?" Cousin Arya asked, glaring daggers.
"I don't think young Brandon is in the capital, or do you mean your half brother?"
She darkened. "He is my brother! Stupid!" It rankled him the love they held for him. He would never understand it. Why do they love one another? Why did Lord Stark bring him home instead of giving him to some vassal?
"So you tell me." Jasper said in a dismissive tone. "I'm more interested in how you snuck past my guards. Mayhaps your mother would be as well?"
"You wouldn't!" Arya said, looking murderous.
"Oh, I certainly would." Jasper sneered before sighing. "But if you must know, I helped Snow because it was the right thing to do. He was down and didn't deserve a beating. It was not honorable behavior expected from a knight. So yes, I helped him. You're welcome." He smirked. And you care for him. Jasper thought. I have to safeguard him as well because of it. But she didn't need to know that.
"Now go off. Run along now, do whatever savage little ladies do."
"If you weren't hurt, I'd kick you!"
Jasper chuckled, amused. "I'm sure you would, cousin." After she left with a loud huff, Jasper thought of his cousins and Snow. He regretted how things turned out between them. Actions have consequences and he had made his choices. If only I could have forgiven him, but he couldn't anymore prevent the sun from rising in the east and setting in the west. Princess Myrcella had been right when she said he was jealous of him. He grew up in Winterfell with the love of his cousins while they forgot about him. Jasper dreamed about them and those grey walls. What fun he could have had! Rides in the Wolfswood! Fights in the courtyard! How many dung fights could he have had in the stables? Dozens! Maybe he could have found siblings in all of them? Noble Robb. Sweet Sansa. Fierce Arya. Mischevious Bran. The babe Rickon. Maybe just maybe even Snow. In another world where his father sent him to Winterfell as a boy maybe it could have been so. Jasper always dreamed of a life beyond his lonely castle in the sky.
He looked for the worst in the bastard trying to make him some villain as bad as Harry or as cruel as his parents. Every action he assigned a dark motivation to him because a lowly bastard had been given what he always sought. Jon Snow was no villain. He may even be decent, but he would always represent what they had taken from him. A chance of a family amongst the Starks of Winterfell.
It should have been me. I should have been raised in Winterfell not him.
Still, he should try to make his peace with him while he could. He saved my life. I have to say my thanks. Does not Arryn honor demand such?
He thought of honor and bastards as the doors opened, and Myrcella carried a tray of food. Two bowls of porridge, or whatever it was supposed to be. Along with some assortments of fruit, "Oh, I made this for you myself! Can you imagine I've cooked nothing in my life!?" Jasper could certainly believe that. One of those orange blobs might have been a carrot. She looked at him with big eyes and a bright smile.
Jasper smiled and grabbed the spoon, and swallowed the food with a brave gulp. "It's good. Very good." He lied and took another bite to show her.
"Oh, let me try!"
Myrcella turned green, and she gagged. "I guess not then."
Jasper laughed until his sides ached. "Thankfully we shall have cooks in the Eyrie! I'm sorry for teasing. It's unlordly to tease a princess." He coughed awkwardly at the brief period of silence. "We still have some fruit." He went for the strawberries, but she was quicker and seized the bowl, giggling. "Could you feed me Jasper?! Pretty please!" She batted her eyes shyly. He was taken aback, and he stared at her dumbly. She must think me a dim wit.
"As you wish, princess."
She nibbled on it gently, and Jasper stifled a groan, watching her. He gazed into her green eyes and he wanted to claim her. Forget his honor, but he still had self-control. Jasper wasn't some beast that would dishonor her and take her maidenhead. As High as Honor! Instead, he grabbed her and brought her to his chest. "Jasper, neither of us can eat like this." she chided sweetly.
He smiled and said.
Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams:
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems
The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
They that are rich in words, in words discover
That they are poor in that which makes a lover.
Myrcella's eyes widened with joy as he started, and she was clapping by the end. "Oh, that was lovely Jasper! I didn't know you to be such a romantic."
Jasper scoffed. "I know a couple. It's practical for courtship and lords are practical." He scowled with a stern look.
"Oh yes Jasper, you are very practical." She agreed with a sweet smile. "Do you know anymore?"
He did, and he told them to her as she lay in his arms. By the end, she nibbled on his ear and was panting lightly. He stroked the naked part of her back. "Oh, Jasper." She whimpered at his touch.
"Well, if you came to get my heart up you have succeeded." Jasper said honestly. "How I wish we were wed."
"I would love that Jasper." She whispered. "Maybe it could be? I doubt my father would deny you. Or Lord Stark as regent he can decide when I wed." Her voice was filled with hope, and he found himself hopeful as well. He made a vow in his heart that he would take her back with him or perish in the attempt. She made him happy, or the closest to it he had ever felt and he would never give that up! Never! And this city was dangerous. Jasper did not trust those Tyrells or Lord Renly, nor the Lannisters either. A war brewed between them even with the concessions that had been wrought they wouldn't forget the death of Ser Loras. My golden princess will be safest in the Eyrie along with the future king. May he have the strength to protect them both.
My wife. Lady Myrcella Arryn. My future king. King Tommen Baratheon.
That night, he dreamed of putting an Arryn cloak around her pale shoulders. It was a happy dream.
Jon
The boulder in front of him was as large as a cart. Drums played in the background as loud as thunder. His Grace claimed they helped a man push himself. King Robert sweated like a pig in silk with groans and curses as he pushed the boulder forward. "Another foot, your grace." Ser Barristan said. "You have almost done it." His Grace swore as the boulder's rolling came to a halt.
"Tis funny. I recall you've said that already, Barry old boy."
Ser Barristan smiled. "You asked me to help get you back into shape, your grace." He said dutifully. "One more step."
King Robert exploded with energy; arms shaking with eyes as wide as oranges and a vein on his forehead looked close to popping as he rolled the boulder another two feet before collapsing in his own sweat. Jon wondered if he would actually see the famed Demon of the Trident from fathers stories instead of the fat king that came stumbling through the gates of Winterfell. For the first time, Jon thought him a powerful man.
A young blond boy, Tyrek of House Lannister, offered King Robert a goblet of wine. He would be accompanying them to Essos. The other boy Lancel had been knighted, per the request of Ser Kevan. He doesn't wish him to cross the Narrow Sea. "Get that away from me!" His grace swatted the goblet away like a fly in the wind. It fell to the ground with a loud clang. A fine vintage, no doubt. "I'm getting strong again! GODS, I'M GOING TO TERROIZE THEM! THEY'LL SHIT THEMSELVES WHEN THEY SEE ME!" He twisted towards him with stormy eyes. "How do you think I'm progressing, lad?"
Jon looked at his still oversized gut and his double chin and knew the truth, but he was his king. He had sworn a vow and Ser Barristan watched him with observant eyes. "Stronger every day, your grace."
King Robert laughed. "Stronger every day, is it? Ah, good lad. Just like Ned." He laughed some more. "Ever kill a man, Jon?"
He became flushed by the question. "I have not been given the opportunity to do so." But he knew he was better than most and would cut down a man with ease. Ser Rodrick and Ser Barristan all claimed him an excellent swordsman, but he liked not the implication that he was some green boy unworthy of the white cloak. Every day in the training yard, he worked until his body ached and his bones cracked for this moment. To earn this honor fairly, not gifted it on a silver platter. I earned this! I worked hard to earn this post.. "And I will do so to honor my oaths." He finished with quiet determination. Of all his sworn brothers, only Ser Barristan was his master with the blade. Ser Robar was skilled, but unimaginative, and neither Ser Meryn nor Ser Preston impressed him much. Though he imagined the Kingslayer could best him with ease. Ser Barristan liked the man little, but confessed that he was born to wield a sword.
"Nothing like it!" King Robert said as he brushed back his dark locks coated in sweat. "Alright, I'm done for the day." Ser Meryn followed behind His Grace on his right side, while he fell in on his left side, with Ser Robar behind him. He felt pride as he strolled around the courtyard and caught the looks of admiration at the white cloak from squires and servants. It was unworthy and boyish, but he liked the way they looked at him. No longer was he a stain of his lord father's dishonor, but a symbol of southern chivalry. The best of the best.
I'm more than simply the bastard of Winterfell.
"Brooding Snow? Or thinking of some pretty maiden?" Ser Robar snickered as they both stood guard outside the kings tower. Ser Robar could talk for hours. He was rarely silent.
Jon shook his head.
"Ah, you're brooding. Too serious to think of pretty maidens." He chuckled.
"We swore a vow." Jon reminded him.
"And we can still think of them. Nothing in the vows about thinking.
Jon could find little fault in his reasoning, but he held his silence. It was terribly boring just standing guard outside of the kings chambers, especially with the uncomfortable sounds coming from behind them. King Robert might have forgone drinking for the moment, but he found company in whores well enough. The sounds behind them were unsettling and made a light blush creep around his neck, but he had his duty and he would be the best at it.
"Who do you think was the prettiest girl?" Ser Robar asked. "The redhead or the dark-skinned one?"
"Red haired." Jon mumbled out.
Ser Robar blinked and grinned. "You like red heads, Snow? Your sister is red-haired, is she not?"
Jon tightened and glowered as Ser Robar held up his hands apologetically. "Alright, alright, I see that was uncalled for. If a man has spoken of Ysillia so I would have decked him."
"Do you ever shut up?"
"Not when I'm bored to tears. They don't speak of waiting behind doors in the songs."
Jon nodded in agreement. "Aye they don't." Ser Robar was the second son of Lord Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone. He was slated to inherit no lands and, like him, sought to make his own way in the world. He seemed to be good-natured, if overtly talkative. But it wasn't so bad on nights like this with little to do. Otherwise Jons mind drifted to his conversation with his little sister.
"Take me with you! I could be your squire!" Arya declared.
"No one would be a better squire than you, but I shall not take you from, father."
Arya's scowl deepened.
Jon sighed. "I'm sorry, little sister. I wish it were otherwise."
"No, you don't!" Arya said, with tears streaming down her cheeks as she stormed off.
The sound of metallic boots climbing the staircase woke him from his memories. Ser Barristan led the party of Arryn guardsman. Lord Arryns, Captain of his household guard among them. "Ser Barristan." Jon said dutifully, dipping his head.
"I'm here to relieve you, Jon." Ser Barristan said.
Jon grew puzzled. "I don't understand. I'm not due to be relieved for several hours."
"Our lord wishes to speak to you Ser Jon." The haughty, proud voice answered for Ser Barristan. He looked to the Lord Commander for confirmation and he gave his assent.
"Very well." Jon said. "Lead on then ser."
Ushered into Lord Arryn's bed chamber, his lordship hardened with judgement when he walked through the doorway with his eyes, pools of ice glaring. They held little warmth for him. Even covered in bandages, Lord Arryn carried himself regally like a high lord. He judged him unworthy the moment he laid eyes on him. I saved his life, and he still sees me as less than dirt.
"Arryn."
"Snow."
"I see His Grace selected you as one of his seven." Lord Arryn said, fighting back a sneer. "I would have chosen another."
Jon stiffened. "Did you request my presence to exchange barbs, my lord?"
Lord Arryn winced and swallowed. "No, I wish to extend my thanks. I owe you my life, and I wish to thank you for it." He said. "Honor demands it of me."
"It was the honorable thing to do." Jon used his own words against him from the melee. A flash of recognition in his eyes and he nodded his head. An awkward pause followed them as Lord Arryn adjusted his collar and coughed. Jon shifted awkwardly as well. "Anything else, Lord Arryn?"
"Yes." Lord Arryn said. "My cousins care for you. Gods know why. I can barely stand the sight of you, but I suppose try not to die." His voice was haughty and uncaring. "It would cause them much anguish."
It rankled him, and something burned in his chest, trying to claw free. "I will not die Arryn. Unlike you, I'm actually beyond adequate with a sword." Jon said unwisely. He was tired of standing idle to his slights and walking on eggshells around the man. He was a man of the Kingsguard. Not a boy any longer.
"If it wasn't for me, you never would have received the white cloak!" Lord Arryn snapped back with great heat. "They would have battered you until you were nothing more than a bloody stain on the field."
Jon felt his cheeks burn. If he wasn't in bed wounded, I would strike him. "And yet, who lies in bed? Little better than a crippled." Jon retorted with satisfaction. He thought the man would actually lunge at him when his hands curled to the side. "You sent for me to offer thanks and you slight me with every word. As High-as-Honor, what a jape." Jon scoffed and turned away from the red faced Lord of the Eyrie.
He managed three steps when Lord Arryn said. "Jon." He had never called him by his first name before. He did not think he cared to learn it, and Jon turned to face him. "Much has happened between you and me. Things that we have done to the other that can never be healed, but I wish you well truly. My cousins care for you, and I think you are a man of some honor. Lord Stark named you for my father and they say he was the most honorable man that ever lived." His voice was quiet and lordly as he sounded as noble as father. He spoke without judgement. "I think he would be proud that you bear his name well."
Jon didn't know what to say. He had never really thought of why his father named him Jon. "Do you truly care for my siblings?" He asked.
"I do." Lord Arryn admitted.
"Will you watch over them in my absence?"
"On my honor as an Arryn." He swore, and Jon knew he was speaking the truth.
Jon offered his hand. Lord Arryn looked at it with some emotion as he swallowed something, and Jon raised his brow in puzzlement. He detected no malice or bitterness, but still he gazed at his hand with intensity.
"I dream some nights of Winterfell and that courtyard." Lord Arryn told him. "Of you offering that hand. I never take it even in my dreams, but I should. "He said thick with emotion. "I should have taken it. It would have been the honorable thing to do."
"Then take it now, my lord." Jon said.
Lord Arryn looked touched as they grasped hands together. An unspoken understanding seemed to be spoken as they made their peace with the other or as close as they would ever come. Some bitterness lay underneath the surface for them both, but as father said. "You find your true friends on the battlefield." And on the field of battle, no man was a greater friend than Lord Arryn. Few would have been brave enough to charge three heavily armored knights to save a bitter foe, and he fought with everything he had to defend him for the sake of honor. Jon could never hate a man like that. It was respectable.
The next day, the entire court had arrived to see them off. The Lannister Queen with a tiara of diamonds that glittered in the sun surrounded by men wearing the crimson red of House Lannister. All the members of the Kings Small Council gathered around as well. Father stood somber, gazing at him with some sadness. Arya wore a gray dress for once and she ran across the dockyard despite the eyes watching her and threw her arms around his neck. "I'm going to miss you, Jon." She said. Jon held her tightly for a moment.
"Me too, little sister." Though he let her go quicker than he wished. Lady Stark watched him and despite being a man of the Kingsguard, she still made him squirm. As a man of the Kingsguard, you'll be facing worst threats than Lady Starks icy glares.
He carried Arya back to their family, dropping her down. Sansa fought her tears back ever a southern lady. She has the North in her as well. "Good luck, brother." She said with perfect courtesy. "I shall pray for you."
"Worry not Sansa, Ghost is coming with me. He shall keep me out of trouble."
Sansa smiled. "I hope so, Jon, ever my knight clad in white."
"Lord Father." Jon said, feeling braver than he had ever felt in his entire life. "My mother, who was she? Does she know where I'm going?" Never had he asked father about her. Everyone looked at them, and the disdain from Lady Stark was clear as day.
"I don't have the words to say, Jon." Father whispered. "I know not if I ever will."
Jon fought back the tears and nodded. I suppose I expected too much from him to finally put a name to the face. In his dreams, she was a lady of high birth and kind eyes with a soft lullaby voice that could soothe any worry away. King Roberts voice boomed from the ship. "COMING BOY? WE ONLY HAVE SO MANY HOURS OF DAYLIGHT!" And Jon gave one last nod of goodbye and embarked the ship to whatever end that came. They would travel first to Dragonstone, where King Roberts brother Lord Stannis held his seat. His Grace wished to take a few of his ships for escort to the Free Cities. The land behind them grew ever fainter until it disappeared from sight. With a small sigh, Jon went below deck, Ghost following behind him.
Kevan
"The Tyrells are gone, my lord, save for Lady Margaery. She has remained behind with her betrothed." Ser Vylarr said.
Kevan's back was turned with his hands were interlocked behind him. He gave a curt nod, mimicking Tywin. Standing in his shadow, one learned much about how to govern men.
Ser Vylarr departed with a bow.
The immediate danger seemed to have passed between them. It'll come to war, eventually. The Tyrells will never forgive the death of their favorite son, but he had sent them scurrying back to Highgarden like a dog with its tail between its legs. Kevan had made vague promises with Lord Tyrell over payment to Summerhall. We couldn't defy His Grace openly by refusing. However, a path lay open to them of dragging out negotiations over the amount, and delay the shipments of gold. By the end, Kevan imagined little gold would come from their coffers to rebuild a Tyrell seat. He penned a quick letter to Tywin. War as an inevitability meant great allies need to be seized to safeguard the position of House Lannister, especially under the regency of Eddard Stark. King Roberts foolishness knew no bounds to simply leave his throne in the hands of a vassal, even a man as respected and dutiful as Lord Stark was pure folly.
King Robert never showed much sense, even when he was sober. Kevan mused.
It was no matter. He could work with Stark as long as he never crossed a line that could never be forgiven. It was likely the man would seek to remake the Small Council to better suit his wishes. Would he sack the Master of Laws? Replace Lord Renly with another man. If Kevan were him, he'd name Edmure Tully to the post. Another voice to support him tied to him by marriage. Jasper Arryn remained too young and needed to return to the Vale shortly. The Master of Coin would certainly be sacked, even if Stark didn't know it already. A small sliver of a chance remained for him to seize the Office for House Lannister. With them holding the lion's share of the realms debt, it would seem reasonable to see him named to the post as much as he wished to return to Dorna Kevan knew he had to remain in the capital to prevent his niece from destroying his progress.
Maybe with Robert gone, I could send her back to the Rock. A queen in name only. Kevan wondered. If he wished to accomplish this, he would need the support of the Lord Regent. Most men would wish something in return, but Lord Stark didn't seem the sort. Regardless, he would have a bone to offer him if need be. Duty to House Lannister demanded he be prepared. Soon he would press for Princess Myrcella to wed Lord Jasper Arryn. The sooner those two are wed and sire heirs, the greater chance we hold of integrating ourselves further into the bloc. And from the time they spent in the others company it seemed to be a fruitful union.
She would see Arryn saw the viewpoint of House Lannister and if not, he would use what lay in his desk to bring him to heel. A son will always seek to defend a mothers honor. Kevan chuckled. It didn't take long to track down Lady Lysa's movements. A few old remains of Lord Arryn's household remained scattered throughout the capital. At first, they professed to know nothing of worth, but gold often sweetens tongues. They painted a beautiful picture for him. Lord Jon Arryn meant to send his youngest boy to Lord Stannis. Everyone knew how attached the woman was to the sickly boy, and Lady Lysa raged and seethed, but Lord Jon held firm. A few days later, the man died. Even if untrue enough would believe it, it would harm his position in the eyes of his bannerman. It could even drive a splinter between Lord Arryn and the Starks that may never heal.
A sword to tame the bird should my grand niece fail.
In the other drawer of his desk lay the letter to end the ill-born prince. Only Maester Pycelle knew of it. If anything happened to him, he gave him explicit instructions to send the letter. I shall not let that boy shame House Lannister. Shame Tywin. But it would never be used. Cersei had been declawed.
The smell of perfume filtered behind him. "Varys." Kevan voiced, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Tsk. Tsk." Varys giggled. "Warm welcome, my lord. I seek to warn you. It's always dutiful capable men like yourselves that suffer."
Kevan raised a brow. "You speak in riddles." He chuckled. "But I gather the meaning. You think I've poked a hornet's nest during my stay?" It was accurate enough. His niece certainly loved him not. She had tried to poison him once. The Tyrells blamed him for the death of Ser Loras, though he was blameless for that affair. The Mountain was a mad dog foaming at the mouth. Maybe others wished him harm? But Kevan didn't care a lick. He would do his duty. Lions don't care for the opinions of sheep.
"Correct my lord. An investigation that is awfully close to a vigilant mans dark secret."
"Your word of warning is noted, but unneeded." Kevan said. "I have a food tester and I remained well protected when I venture onto the streets. I've taken every reasonable precaution."
Varys clapped with his powdered hands. "Ever a lion of the Rock, very cunning in your protections, but I worry it shall not be enough."
Kevan rubbed his chin and considered it. "What do you recommend, Varys?"
"Leave for the Rock. Bring the Queen with you. If you worry, she shall cause mischief while you are away. Yes, The Starks shall rule for today, but in the future you shall return."
"You wish me to run?" Kevan scoffed. To do so would be to abandon House Lannister's position in the capital. Tywin gave him a duty to defend House Lannister and he would not cower from his responsibility. His responsibility to his brother and to his house. Second sons serve their elders and he had his duty.
"I wish you to live." Varys replied. "Your death would prove a messy affair."
Kevan waved his hand in dismissal, ending the conversation. He had heard enough and when he blinked, Varys was gone like a magician. Lancel opened the door. "Father, are you well? I heard voices?" He thought to the Eunuchs warning and his advice as he gazed at his firstborn. A newly made knight, by a king. "It's nothing, my boy. Now tell me again about your victory over the Marbrand boy." Kevan smiled.
Authors note: Woah! This is my longest chapter I've ever done it just wouldn't end! Anyway, next up mostly peaceful dinners. As always I love to see reviews! they really help the writing process!
7thManaic: Yep, that was actually my orginal intention in my rough sketch of what I wanted to happen, but I thought it seemed too perfect like I was trying to make it fit. Though if I had done it I was also going to have Ghost get involved. It would have been a fun fight! But I think this was better though allows for more chaos and conflict always fun in ASOIAF. As you can see in this chapter Jasper/Jon make a peace of sorts they'll never be friends, but they know the other is an honorable guy and is respectable. Plus, they have the Starks that bond them together even if Jasper is estranged from them he takes his bonds of kinship very seriously. Hope you enjoyed it!
Amok: Thank you! Hope you enjo this one too!
Darkwarrior44: Yeah, that was my intention with Jasper make him a flawed imperfect hero that you hate/root for. The guy does have some decent poiitical instincts, but hes still hot headed and inexpierenced. He makes mistakes given enough time and with a good support system in place he could do very well. I think you are a bit harsh with Ned, guy is capable of say ruling the North with his leadership strategy. It's just in the South when the name Stark doesn't mean much his honor is a hinderance. But he's not totally inadept I think he is capable. He can make smart choices, but he tries to make it fit in his worldview. But yeah Ned is certainly more an Arryn than Jasper is!
jean d arc: Thank you! I tried with Jasper! OCs are very challenging cause you have to fit them into the ASOIAF world. Everyone in ASOIAF has flaws and you have to show them or else they stick out like a sore thumb!
ATP: I think war might be around the corner, it is Game of Thrones after all.
Freedmoon: I decided to do your review last, cause you always have the most to say! I always love reading your long reviews helps me think about Jasper and all the plots I'm forming. sometimes they help me notice things I never really saw before.
Now as to your review, Ser Hugh was in this really bad place. Pretty much he fell into debt with the Lenders, who Baelish controlled making Ser Hugh his personal Catspaw. Pretty much the plot was kill Jasper in the thick of the melee after the orginal plot to tamper with Jasper Armor during the Joust failed and Hugh would be forgiven of his debts by the lender(Hugh doesn't know about Baelish) And to clarify what happened in the cells pretty much he was told if he killed himself they wouldn't kill his mother and the debt would be freed. So Hugh bashed his own head in and the loose end was tied up. As for Jasper/Myrcella I'm glad you enjoy them! I think this answers your question about love/honor. Jasper does Love Myrcella cause she makes him feel happy, but hes still a stubborn guy and will make his own political choices. Still, she will still hold a lot of influence/sway over him. I think any attempt at this point to declare her a bastard and strip her of her title would not end well. Jasper is a fiercely loyal guy once he really likes you and she is the one thing that makes him really happy. He would likely die in defense of that.
Yep, Jon/Jasper do hold some more respect for the other even if bitterness remains. Jon still sees him as a harsh judgemental lord pretty much this entitled rich kid looking down on him. And for Jasper he still sees Jon with jealousy as this bastard that didn't deserve what he earned. That he robbed him from what he always wanted. Still, they both know the other is a man of honor and a true friend on the battlefield where it matters. The Starks also bind them together. I'll just say this about the next chapter(I think you review every two chapters) it's going to reveal much about how the climate is going to be moving forward. In some ways the next two chapters are like the end of Act 1 for me. We will see Dragonstone I promise! I've been meaning to go there for sometime, but we will go there in two chapters! And yeah poor Ned. Guy just wants to go back to Winterfell. Robert is just a terrible friend. "Ned be my Hand! Ned be my Regent!"
Yeah Dorne is certainly laughing. Eventually I'll get around to see whats happening to Joffrey and Co. It would certainly be a miracle for Ned to keep the peace, but I'm rooting for him! But you have to have a war in ASOIAF or else it doesn't feel real. The opening salvos of the conflict shall happen next chapter(If I stick to my plan!)