JORY VI
"The deep blue waves gupped and heaved, as they saw the island of Dragonstone appearing like a smudgy grey speck somewhere far on the horizon.
Seagulls screamed from above, and he saw great shoals of fish in the water further on, herrings or streamings perhaps.
Jory did not care much for sea travel, but where the king went, there went his kingsguard with him. Ser Merlon Manderly seemed as certain as a gallion's figure where he stood, however, his armoured legs seeming as steady as if they were carved from the wooden deck of the ship itself.
Jory himself had been close to spewing at least four times, gripping the rigging and waiting but never seeing it come out. If it would, perhaps it would be a relief. Instead he battled a to him unplanned fight of keeping the thick milky sea stew of King's Landing octopus and crab inside the confines of his stomach. He'd have been better off starving on the salt of the sea air than partake of the food that was available on the Sea Wolf.
They had all set sail during the black of night before, as King Eddard wished for a discreet departure and to also make certain that they would reach their destination by mid-day today. If things went to His Grace's plan, they needed not stay over for longer than a night to assure themselves of the prince Viserys's fealty before returning back home to the Red Keep again.
Jory Cassel hoped innerly, for himself and for the sake of his king and liege lord alike, that it was the last journey for a long while ahead.
…
"Land on! Driftmark!" the captain of the ship announced. Jory turned to Ser Merlon.
"Is it not Dragonstone yet?"
"No, we have taken the straightest route, passing by Driftmark first", his brother-in-arms explained.
Jory felt half a fool for having asked, as he so often did. But he had not been to either Dragonstone or Driftmark for at least five years, perhaps more, back when the prince was still but a lanky youth.
...
"My King. Would it not be wise to inquire as to the Lord of the Tides' fealty as well?" He asked his king, as they passed by the island a mile or two to their north without stopping.
"After", King Eddard promised. "I would speak with Prince Viserys first, and get a grip on what thoughts he has, before turning to his good-father. Once we have spoken to the prince we shall also go and speak with Lord Monford. Even if it so takes us the morrow as well."
His voice was stern. Tired, yet decided. He did not wish to travel here again unnecessarily, Jory felt.
The King was perhaps slightly more used to seafaring than Ser Jory of House Cassel, but His Grace also held a certain fondness for the comfort of dry land. The old gods of the forest would not hear their prayers out here either, Jory thought. That was yet another reason to not linger too long out at sea.
…
They reached Dragonstone around one or two hours later, as the captain called it out to confirm Jory's thoughts this time at least.
The volcano, the Dragonmont, stood up as a dark grey silhouette against the sky on the top of the island, but elsewise, it was an island of grey rock, and of slanting green hills, and rocky outcroppings closest to the steep shores here, on the southwestern side. The castle itself could be seen shaded in the shadow of the Dragonmont, and the shapes of dragons against the eastern skies.
They saw that there was more trouble awaiting them than stone dragons, however, as soon as they got nearer. Twenty ships stood anchored, with sails raised, red dragons on black and sea-green seahorses on teal as well. The Targaryen prince's few impressive ships had been fortified by at least a dozen of the Velaryon fleet.
"Trouble, my king?" Jory asked.
"We shall see", Ned replied calmly, as his brow slowly deepened in concern.
The ships called out their horns at the sight of them, and they heard men shout and shuffle about from hundreds of yards away, but seeing as they themselves had only a force of three ships, the Dragonstone fleet allowed them to pass through their ranks.
Jory thought that he saw grim faces on the captains, however, watching in disapproval as the wolf king made his entrance and docked towards the port.
So this is how it starts, he thought. Where is Stannis? Where is the prince?
...
A hundred guards or more stood posted at the southern wall, which was a minor stone labyrinth designed to only let those who were desirable to pass onto the main part of the island. The port itself was connected to the island proper by a long stone bridge that raised itself out of the strands of the water like the walkway of an ancient monastery or else.
There had not been that many guards last time around. Only a dozen, perhaps. So the rumours of sudden armament were true, then.
Soon after pulling down their anchor, they heard the first shout directed plainly at them.
"Halt! Who would lay anchor at the southern port?"
Jory almost sneered, as he tensed up inside his armour and looked to the side of Ser Merlon. The pot-bellied Kingsguard knight bellowed the reply back.
"His Grace King Eddard! Are the men of Dragonstone so blind with the sea salt that they cannot see his royal sails?"
There was silence from the quay, after that.
"What is your purpose?" The man called out from afar.
"Whatever purpose that the king means to inflict!" Jory called out, as loud as he could. "Kneal before His Grace!"
Jory glanced over to his king, knowing that he may have overstepped somewhat in his command.
But King Eddard said nothing to stop them, as his icy gaze scanned the confines of the rocky shore.
He was counting the blades and arrows, Jory knew. Twenty there, another twenty up there on those rocks, and then a dozen down by the opening to a cave port to the east where some small fishing boats or else seemed to be anchored to old grey wooden poles sticking up out of in the water.
…
"On this island, Prince Viserys Targaryen is The only one who rules over us. And a good and just ruler he is!", the guard shouted out as loud as he could, holding his spear and shield raised and at the ready all the while.
This time it was Ser Merlon who stared meaningfully at the king, to which His Grace gave a nod.
"Have you all forgotten your allegiances so easily? His Grace King Eddard of House Stark is the ruler of all of you! Put down your weapons at once and allow us passage!"
…
"Only the Prince may give us commands!" The insolent guard shouted at them again.
"Then surely fetch us your Prince at once, ser, and we shall see what his command is!" Ser Merlon shot back.
…
A short silence followed, and the rustling of some quiet voices back and forth, in their large midst. Steps and voices shuffled back and forth, some with hushed voices, some with angry ones, before the men of the Dragonstone guard seemed to make a decision.
One of the guards took the message, then, finally, and rushed off up the green hill to fetch his liege.
He returned not soon, after, with another dozen guards, and at their forefront, a tall, lean figure shining in a white silk doublet, silver-enameled plate armour and a long red and black cloak flapping behind him against the bright light of the sun. Prince Viserys Targaryen had come to see them.
"Your Grace! Welcome to Dragonstone!" He called down towards the docks with a hearty tone, ringing like a hopping of fish or the sound of silver bells chiming in the air, a sound as affected and falsely merry as any Jory had heard.
He took his hand upon his sword hilt again, preparing for some treason or arrows shot from the guard behind them, but none such came, to their relief.
The prince came up to them with a brisk and happy pace in his step, as he bowed slightly before the king and shook his hand. Ned was more reserved with his movements in turn.
The prince took a short, chisening gaze out at the small force of Stark ships, holding his hand above his eyes to shield against the sun, before assessing them to not be a threat. Then he smiled again.
…
"My guards will gladly escort you up to the castle, if you so wish", the prince said, as he came closer.
"That seems most welcome, my prince, but I regret to say that it is also somewhat unexpexted."
"Unexpected?" The Targaryen prince said, angling his silver white eyebrows. "Why ever is that?"
"Your guard here refused to allow us passage", the King said. "He told us that prince Viserys of House Targaryen is the only ruler that Dragonstone knows, and that neither wolves nor other beasts have any command here on this island."
"What?"
The prince feigned indignation.
"Who? Which guard was this?" He asked.
"This one right here, my prince", Jory said gruffly, pointing at the man, who still stood sour-headed and glaring at them with his shield held high.
Viserys took a look at the man, doing quite a good job as to Jory's liking in looking believably severe in his judgement, and then issued a command straight to his closest knight.
"Ser Godry, take him to the dungeons. He is apparently a traitor to King Eddard's reign. We can not have such dishonourable men guarding our shores."
"Yes, my prince", Ser Godry Farring replied immediately, as he put his shoulders roughly around the rebellious man and carried him away up over the grassy ridge, presumably towards the castle somewhere behind.
"Thankyou", King Eddard said with a restrained cool in his voice, "now may we perhaps speak on some matters of importance?"
"But of course, Your Grace. Will the Stone Drum suffice for the meeting?"
"I would prefer we do it out here, in the open where all of your subjects can see.", the king replied.
Viserys got an indescribable sort of look about him, which Jory interpreted as the twitchings of a rankled mind, poorly disguised two heartbeats later as concern for the king's wellbeing.
"Your Grace, surely you would not wish to stand out here amongst the crashing of the waves and the muck of sheep… ?"
"We speak here", the king said with an icy command in his tone.
There was silence for a bit
"...But of course your Grace."
The king began to speak as they walked.
"Why have you raised the island with hundreds of swordsmen and archers all of a sudden? Have I or Lord Stannis given you leave to do so?"
The princeling looked at a loss for words for a while, as he gave off an absurd whiff of laughter, a nervous laughter if any such had ever been seen, before steadying himself into a reply of sorts.
"My sister... Was almost abducted by an army of sellswords, your Grace. The Golden Company."
"She was", Eddard allowed, "a half year ago now, but she is far from them and safe now. At Pinkmaiden, far inland."
"All the same", Viserys continued. "If it is my sister that these scum are after, then I would be well to stay on alert from their blades as well. Dragonstone lies much closer to the free cities, where those scum live. And I would prefer that noone attempted to do the same with me or my wife either. I would wish to protect them from any harm that might befall them. Would not you..., Your Grace?"
King Eddard looked long and hard on his ward, before giving a reply.
"If it is protection you need, you could have written to me directly. Instead you scheme, alone here, on your island, where noone can see you or take account of it."
"Stannis can see me", he defended himself. "I assure you, that Stannis is ever watching, as a dour shadow above me, blocking out the sunlight, an iron grip on my whole being, if that makes Your Grace feel any better."
He scoffed.
Jory put his hand on his sword handle. Ned motioned for him to not do anything stupid, however.
"I want you to lay down your arms before me, and swear an oath of fealty to me as your king.", he told the prince, as they stopped walking.
"I-... Your Grace... I am yours. I have always been", the silver prince said, his smile so suddenly so innocent and glad.
A man with a sword seldom smiles for nothing. His uncle Ser Rodrik had taught him that long ago. And the king knew so as well.
"You have never sworn me an oath, though. That was done on your behalf, when you could do nothing about it, say nothing against it, long before you were a man grown. When you came of age, you swore only to continue obeying Lord Stannis. I wish for you to swear to me now."
Viserys took a look at the king, and then at his two kingsguards, seemingly weighing his options.
"Very well. I have nothing to hide. You are my king and shall remain so."
"Your knees, my prince", Ser Merlon said, impatiently. "Bend them, if you would."
...
Viserys took one final look around, as he saw all of his men gathered there, the men who had never seen him bow down to anyone before, if not to Stannis then, of course.
And he bent down.
"Now, say the words", Ser Merlon ordered.
"Which ones? There are many royal oaths", the prince said, trying to wiggle himself out even now.
"Choose whichever ones you think seem fitting, and we shall see if your oath is enough."
"Very well."
The Targaryen prince was sweating already, but if it was merely the sunlight on the warm day, or something else that pearled and beaded around his pale brow and long silvery hair, Jory was unsure.
"I, Prince Viserys of House Targaryen,... lord of Dragonstone... do solemnly swear fealty to His Grace King Eddard of House Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
I swear my sword to him, I swear mine lands and subjects into his kindoms, I swear to serve and obey him, in war and in peace, in winter and in summer, by the Old Gods and the New, I swear it."
You don't pray to the Old Gods, Jory thought, but said nothing.
The king was deep in thought, as he looked down on the lithe silvery frame of the young prince who lay as if before a beheading on the green grass of the hillrise.
Then his king harkled himself, made to shift in his boots, and began to swear the words of his own. They were seldom used words, unnecessary, to an oath such as this, but he made them nonetheless.
"I, King Eddard of House Stark, hereby take you on as my subject. I bring my cloak around thine lands, thine flock, thine shoulders, thine heart. To give my protection, to care for you, to watch over you and yours, to listen to your concerns at mine council.
You shall have your allegiance to me, to me alone, and to none other. I shall give you the salt and bread of my lands, and shield you from harm as best I can. I shall uphold the Father's justice, and pray for the wisdom of the Crone. My protection is yours."
And with that, King Eddard Stark extended his snowy direwolf cloak to rest on top of the lanky prince's shoulders, before speaking to him directly.
"Arise, my prince."
Viserys slowly got up, an ungainly and unsteady motion, as the king gave him his arm to help.
"Now. Perhaps some bread and salt from your own halls to keep us fed?" the king suggested.
Viserys smiled in relief and gratitude, as he nodded.
"Yes... Yes, of course, Your Grace. "
He clapped together his hands and called to a servant who stood some few twenty feet away.
"Marrigan! See to it that the Great Hall is prepared for His Grace and his retinue! Bread and salt for His Grace! And more to eat and drink as well!"
The red-haired underlord steward, or whatever the man's position was, bowed and nodded.
"At once, my prince".
Jory took note of the man's garment as he left. He was barely wearing any armour at all, thus making it plain that he had a purely domestic function and was not a soldier or guard. His robes were brownish red, and with the small sigil of House Targaryen's red dragon on black upon his leathe coif, which disappeared for the sight when he turned and went fastly towards the castle. He had fine white silk gloves, however, and wore a somewhat modest smoke-grey cloak.
"Please follow me, Your Grace", Prince Viserys said. "Marrigan will lead us to the castle."
King Eddard looked to his right, seeing the green hills to the south-east, where a few crossbowmen still stood on standby, waiting for an order to strike at once, and then to he left, where even more were positioned, standing up on the large cliff rise of the rock that stretched all the way up from the small strip of strand whence they had just come from.
"Our shields are strong, Your Grace, and we will fight to our last blood drop with honour, but we are not archers", Ser Merlon warned.
"It will be fine", King Eddard decreed. "I have trust that the prince would not wish to spill any more blood than has already been done."
What is he speaking of? Jory thought. Was he referencing the war of the prince's father, the Mad King? Or the attempt on the princess Daenerys at Riverrun? He chose to wait and listen, as he for once was not certain what his king was thinking.
They followed after the silver prince and his steward along the winding dirt path, and into the great dragon-adorned dark grey gate of the castle. Six guards stood posted, allowing them passage as soon as they saw their liege.
Last time we were here, there were only two of you, Jory thought. It was plain as day that the prince was not trusting in the king's peace, not even by his own doorstep.
They made a browsing of the lower sections of the castle meanwhile they waited for the meal to be prepared. Servants came in with lesser foods in the meantime, carrying horns of ale and wine, plates of inlaid salt herring and other fish, bread and salt, cheese and grapes, as well as blackberry cake.
The king ate modestly of the food, but took great care to eat of the bread and salt so that everyone in their midst saw the ancient rule of guest right being sworn. The prince made it clear in his queerly nervous lilac eyes that he also knew well of its significance, as his sweating brow began to slowly evaporate and calm itself.
"Where is lord Stannis?" the king asked after a goodly while, his tone signifying nothing particular.
"In the Sea Dragon Tower, I believe", the prince replied. "Ser Justin, go and fetch the lord castellan!"
"Certainly", the dashing knight smiled with an easy bravado, as he pushed himself across the hall, almost knocking into Jory's resting shield all the while.
He was Ser Justin Massey, Jory knew, cousin to young Sygand, their lanky squire back at the Red Keep. They had only a vague resemble to each other, however, but they both shared the same color hair and eyes. And just now, those eyes of Ser Justin's were staring mockingly at the Kingsguard.
This one prays for death with his languid smiles, he thought, as he tensed himself to draw his blade. Ser Marlon motioned for him to hold himself down, however, and he reluctantly obeyed his elder brother's advice.
"Is the lord castellan not out tending to the fleet?" The king asked. "I would have thought it greatly in need of overseeing, considering how much it has expanded during the last couple of moons."
The prince gave a nervous smile, a queasy sort of apologetic jerk of his head, before taking to word.
"Yes... Well... Lord Stannis is in charge of it. I entrust all matters of the fleet to him."
"And to your good-father, Lord Monford as well... no?" the king asked.
Viserys stared back at the king with a certain sense of alware in his gaze for the first time.
"Yes... Well... We are all sworn into some type of loyalty with our married kin, are we not?"
Jory knew precisely what they were speaking of. The royal fleet consisted of roughly fifty ships at King's Landing and one hundred and sixty at Dragonstone and Driftmark, recently under the command of Lord Monford, the Master of Ships. After his absence from the king's small council for three consecutive meetings, however, Ned had decided to take his place and give it to Wylis Manderly for the foreseeable future.
That had not been appreciated by the Lord of the Tides, as he had already sent a raven demanding for his old place in the council to be reinstated unto him. The king's reply had been short and factual, pointing out his absence and the reason for stripping him of his place.
"I will go and speak to your good-father at Driftmark soon as well", the king said. "I hope he will be present."
"Yes... of course", the prince nodded dutifully. "I would send a raven to him, but..."
"There is no need", King Eddard assured. "Only make sure your people follow the same oaths as you." His tone brookered no argument.
"Certainly, Your Grace."
They did not need to wait much longer for Stannis to come. Within the quarter, the rigid Master of Laws came walking up the long corridor towards them, as sullen and unreadable in face as ever.
"Your Grace", he said, managing to be bowing stiffly at the small royal party. He was flanked by two guards of his own, the one Ser Justin Massey from earlier, as well as a knight with a death's-head moth on his surcoat whom Jory recalled as Ser Richard Horpe.
"I have just spoken to the prince here", the king explained, "and he has sworn me fealty and renewed his oath to the crown."
"Very well", Stannis replied, as casual and toneless in his tone as if they were talking about some minor occurrence like where to plant a crop of onions.
"I would like to know what has become of the royal fleet as well", the king said meaningfully.
"It is where you left it", Stannis said, dryly. The jape, if one could call it that, was not appreciated.
"I am told by my sources that Lord Velaryon has let build new ships, without reporting it to the crown. And you as well, my lord."
"That much is true", Stannis confessed. "Since the attempt on Princess Daenerys, the prince wished for us to expand the small Dragonstone fleet with another five ships. I should have told you sooner."
Jory stood watching, waiting to see what would happen of the confrontation, as he felt the sweat beading on his forehead. The smoke of the nearby kitchens came out into the corridors through dragon-shaped tubes in the castle walls, making him feel as if he were standing in a sauna.
"Perhaps we can discuss this in greater detail at lunch?", a female voice came and suggested from the right side of the room.
It was Lady Maldaena Velaryon, a tall and beautiful silver and teal dream sliding in to join by the side of her husband the prince.
"My lady", the king said, as he gave a slight acknowledgeing bow, and Lady Maldaena curtsied elegantly and deeply before the wolf king, saying nothing more.
Prince Viserys straightened himself, clearly proud to be in the company of his fair wife again, as he took up on her suggestion, called out for Marrigan, and gradually lead the party into the Great Hall.
…
Lunch at Dragonstone castle was peppered roast beef and turnips, as well as another fish and mussel casserole, mutton, a light summer salad and various seafood Jory had never even heard of. He felt glad that there was more to eat than just fish, even though the Kingsguard only ever ate sparingly, and ever on alert.
The king conversed with the prince and the lord steward on the topic of the ships, and it was decided after a goodly while that the new ships would be allowed to be constructed – which, judging by the words from Stannis, they already had been – on the account of an extra tax for them being paid to the crown.
The royal fleet had two parts, with the one in King's Landing under the jurisdiction of Lord Wylis Manderly only having around fifty ships, while the Dragonstone part had at least one hundred and twenty, with most of them being House Velaryon's, and statuated at Driftmark.
It was important that the king's own ships were not further overshadowed by the might of Driftmark and Dragonstone. Whatever power the king held himself, the hold over Blackwater Bay was as important for the city as the control of the roseroad to the southwest. None of them stated it out loud during the dinner, but all knew it to be so.
...
Various other things, of small and great were discussed, including trading ties to the Free Cities, as well as preparations for the coming autumn, but not much of substance was decided on for the nonce.
Meanwhile, the king gradually and slowly slid away from the immediate concerns of the fleet and took more of an interest in the Lady Maldaena's health, as she told of her coming and going welfare during the latest couple of moons. Jory took great care to watch the guards in the room all the while, staring into their sullen grey faces underneath halfhelms of steel, but they seemed as relaxed as they could be reasoned to be, after all, as they saw their liege dining and conversing with the king. We shall see for how long that lasts... Jory thought to himself, and he knew that Ser Merlon thought the same.
...
After the lunch, they made a short walk around the castle, which turned into a somewhat longer one afterhand, while the Prince showed them various old statues, some newly acquired Myrish carpets, as well as far older ones, and the few beautiful seascape paintings of his lady wife that hung in the lower hallways. They went past sconces of dragon claws holding torches, and hundreds of snarling dragon statues holding a close watch of them with angry brooding eyes, telling anyone who would look of the ferocity and power of the dragon, all the while their prince tried to convince the king of precisely the opposite with his light-hearted stories and smiles.
Lord Stannis walked with them as well, all the while, but said little and less, as he was usually wont of doing, and surely as well since he saw all of these things on a close to daily basis. He had his usual dour and humourless look to him, doing his best to abide and listen to the drivel on about tales of old Targaryen kings and refurbishings of the castle that his young liege Viserys told, half falteringly, all the while consulting with his maester to be sure to get the facts right.
They were done with their sighting, just as the prince was about to show them what remained of Aegon the Conqueror's old rose garden, but the king insisted that he had better hurry on towards Driftmark, to which the prince assuredly understood and agreed, and wished him the best of luck for the meeting with his good-father.
…
On their way back towards the ship, they stopped by at the place where the insolent guard had stood earlier, the one who had shouted his loyalty to only the prince and not the king, as Ned surveyed what remained of his shield and other things.
"How long are your passes here, per usual?" He asked the guard standing next to him.
"It can be different times depending on the day..., Your Grace.", the man said curtly, after only reluctantly having learned and seen the command of the king over his prince during the past few hours.
"His Grace asked you a question. It would be most wise to try your best and answer it", Ser Marlon said, once again putting his silver gloves on his sword hilt.
"Some two hours, some four hours, sometimes six", the guard replied.
The king considered that.
"It seems like it can get tedious work at times." He motioned for the board of dice and the drinking horns of wine that lay half-hidden behind some hay and rough-hewn felt blankets on the ground next to the small stonewall.
"We only drink and dice in between our shifts", the guard said, clearly nervous at the discovery, as he pretended to not be obviously caught red-handed.
"Of course", the king gave a little sneering chuckle. "And what is the name of your brother who stood here?"
"Vargon", the man replied.
Ned looked thoughtful at the name, as he mulled over what next to ask.
"Is he highly respected among you? Is he a commander of yours?"
"He is... well... Yes. He was, Your Grace", the man said again. "Vargon of Hull. He is one of our commanders here."
"Perhaps he had too much to drink then", the king said, trying to oversmoothen the situation. "Such things can make men forget the basest of truths."
"Yes, Your Grace. That must have been the way of it, Your Grace. He was only one man of us."
"And how many are you stationed here, exactly? I see far more than a dozen of you."
"One hundred and twelve, Your Grace", the man said, before changing his reply. "That is... One hundred and eleven now."
"And will you miss him, now that the prince has taken him away?"
The man seemed to think on what to reply, before straightening his look to the sky, and bowing.
"No, Your Grace. The commander was good to us, but he failed to show fealty to Your Grace. I listen to the Prince, and the Prince follows under Your Grace's rule."
Ned looked coolly on the man, before laying his arm on his shoulder. Whether it was meant as reassuring or as a threat, Jory found it hard to know.
"So he does", the king only said, as he turned to walk away.
They went down to the edge of the quay, on to the wooden boardwalk, where the small rowboat awaited. The Sea Wolf still stood anchored some two hundred feet away, a magnificent shape arising against the light blue backrop of the sky, still seemingly untouched by arrows or else.
Just as they all sat down in the rowboat, however, and the king's guards helped them push off from the planks, they heard someone from the island guards speak to them directly. The king was busy fitting with his cloak, half cursing under his breath, but Jory could hear the words loud and clear.
...
"He will simply reinstate him, as soon as you are gone", the guard to the right of him said. It was a bug-eyed, small man with a pot belly, dressed the same as all the rest of them, but holding a self-made bottle made into binoculars in his right hand. He was queer-looking, with a thinning line of dark hair, almost bald and weathered by the wind, a small fleeing chin, and his neck wrinkled and skinny like that of a chicken.
Jory at first thought to give no mind as to grace that was a reply, but when the man replied, repeated his statement, Jory spoke up and asked him roughly: "What ? What was that, ser?"
"I said that he will reinstate him, and put him back there in his place, or in a higher one at that, as soon as he hears of what he has said.", the bespeckled little man replied again.
"The Prince is a proud man, and he will not let any of his most loyal men go under just for the sake of some distant Wolf King ruling on the mainland docks".
...
The King heard the words now, as he got a hold of his cloak behind him, with a help of a servant boy, and he turned to beheld the man.
"So says I, Bartos Bootstrap, the sighter of the southern shore.", the strange man added, out loud, and without anyone having asked, as he roughly put on his gloves again, and kicked the gate to the small landing Gatehouse closed again.
Jory, Ser Marlon and the king all watched him still, in silence, as they slowly sailed away, as the guard took up his binocular again to watch the royal party sail away.
...
"Very well. Let them have their qualms about it. We shall see if any of it holds", the king finally said, after a long time of silence.
…
The next stop was Driftmark, finally, as the day grew on, almost as bright still, but beginning to wane.
The Lord of the Tides welcomed them with a much smaller and far more amiable force of guards, but with a remarkably larger fleet on the other hand. Jory counted up to at least eighty ships stationed out at the deep blue coastline near High Tide, and guessing that there were just as many on the other side of the island.
The man himself, however, Lord Monford, formerly and recently of the King's council, was not seen to be as lickspittling and pushed-over as the young Prince Viserys had been.
"This is an outrage!" He protested, as soon as the king told him of their purpose. "I demand my place at the Small Council back before I can be forced to swear any more oaths to anyone!"
"It is not to anyone you would swear, Lord Monford, but to your one and rightful king", Jory cautioned. "Or is it so that you have already abandoned him for your son-in-law?"
"Wh-... I have never heard such nonsense in my life! First you sack me off of the council without a reason in the world, and then you replace me with that fat Manderly fool! And now you expect me to come crawling back, to swear an oath which I have already sworn twice, fourteen years ago! You ask too much, Your Grace."
"Perhaps that is so", the king agreed, "but I will ask it the same. And I will ask something else of you as well. How many ships are in my fleet?"
"Your fleet... Your Grace.. or mine?"
Lord Monford's voice was defiant, an absurdly high-wavering sound, an old Valyrian fool full of himself, as Jory beteckened him in his mind.
"That was precisely what I had come here to discuss with you", the king said in his icy tone.
"House Velaryon has two hundred ships, Your Grace", the previous Master of Ships said proudly, "whereof eighty are fine galleons. Out of these two hundred, the same number remains duly under charge to the uses of the crown as ever before. One hundred and twenty Velaryon sails are still under the command of the royal fleet."
"So it has been", King Eddard confirmed, "but how might I make use of my royal fleet, if their admiral does not respond to my ravens?"
He had him there, Jory knew. No excuse could justify the blatant disrespect of the Lord of the Tides not having replied to the king's latest latter, sent away only about a fortnight ago.
The raven would have reached Driftmark mere hours later, if nothing had happened to it, and the king had been wise enough to send out yet another raven, this one without a message, on the following day, on Grand Maester Pycelle's advice.
Both birds had returned, and the first one without its message still on.
"Do you expect us to believe that some outlaw, brigand or other got ahold of the message before it could reach your castle?" The king asked, his tone harder than Jory had heard it in a long while. "There are not many villages on the way across the Blackwater. Pirates, on the other hand...-"
"Yes, yes, fine...!" Lord Monford said, waving his arms flailingly into the air, so that his long silver moustache and hair flew all around the place, threatening to set alight to the torches beside him in the hall. "I got the message from Maester Valdyn. I did not reply to it at once, I admit it."
"You will do so in the future, my lord, I trust?"
...
Lord Monford made a sigh, before bending before the king.
"Of course, Your Grace", he said silently.
The re-swearing of the oath did not take him long as well, as it turned out, now that he had finally come around to it.
...
The king ate from his bread and salt after the oath had been sworn, as well as drinking of lemonwater and other small refreshments, before they took their leave less than an hour later.
"Now will you allow me back my place?" Lord Monford asked the king, as they prepared to leave.
"I cannot give you back the position as Master of Ships as of the moment", the king replied. "Lord Wylis has been in charge of the King's Landing part of the royal fleet, and has not wavered in his responsibilities to be present when I have called upon him. His lord father at White Harbour is among my most loyal bannermen as well.
I will give Lord Wylis at least a full year on the council to assert his worth to the job before coming to another decision. We will speak then. … If you find that you have the time to reply, that is."
The king's words were cold as ice, once more, as he turned and left his Velaryon vassal standing silent in the hall of High Tide.
...
The rest of the journey home went by mostly smoothly, as the afternoon came properly. They saw a pod of small dolphins swimming next to the ship again, tracing the current and hopping up and down, chittering and squealing in their sea-spraying delight at the sight of them.
"The Grand Maester says that they need to breathe air like men", Jory said to Ser Merlon.
"That much is true", the portly, sea-borne knight confirmed to him. "They come up to the surface to breathe in the fresh air, just like any seal or otter... And to play."
They stood for a while, watching the dolphins playing, adults and young alike, as the king stood to the side, deep in his own thoughts, barely noticing the miracle.
"Do you see them, Your Grace?" Jory felt the need to ask.
"Aye..." Ned replied, alifting his gaze from his letters and up to the view for a short while. "They are fine creatures."
Jory saw the king turn down his head to his reading soon again, however, as he turned to Merlon.
"What about in winter? Do they bury themselves in the sand down below?"
"Noone knows for certain", Ser Merlon said. "Our maester at White Harbour thought so. But that was with fish. Dolphins are not the same. I would guess they move south and east for the winter."
Jory considered that.
"A long and perilous journey, then."
"Indeed."
...
The ever-present white cloud of seagulls welcomed them back to the city, as they saw the brown and pink and white masses of orphan children playing in the water's edge.
The sheer white chalk stone cliffs beneath The Red Keep arose up behind them as a familiar silhouette, seeming as old as time, even though Jory knew that its walls were less than a tenth the age of most castles in the North.
"A good trip, Your Grace?" Alyn asked as he greeted the king on the shore.
"As good as I could have prayed for", he said with foreboding, not allowing himself to hope.
"The children are still up in their chambers. The castle has been mostly still for the day", Alyn reported. "Shall I tell the kitchens to ready for supper?"
"Not yet", the king replied. "I need to wash myself from the journey."
"Of course, Your Grace."
…
The squires were at their places in the chamber of the White Sword Tower as usual. Sygand greeted him and helped him off with his armor.
He thought about whether the lad knew where they had gone for the way, but decided to not tell him. He was a Massey, as was plain to see on his fair face, blue eyes, broad large forehead and light flaxen hair. If anything were to happen, and the dragon prince were to rebel in truth over on his island, the boy might be used as a hostage.
Not that it would make any great difference either way, of course. As far as he knew, House Massey of Stonedance had only five or six ships in the city, and a mere . Of gold and riches, they might have more, but wars were fought with soldiers and swords, not with gold, or else the Old Lion would have been king.
He shook himself off his thoughts, as he let his white cloak slide down from his shoulders, and he hung it up on the peg that was designated for it.
Then he sat down in his usual place at the seven-cornered stone table for a simple meal that the lad prepared for him. He would soon be needed again by the side of his king or the children, he knew. His break was only for an hour.
He turned the hourglass beside him on its head and told Sygand to wake him when the time was up. Then he took off his boots, put them on the floor, took a long swallow of lemonwater from the bedside table, and lay down to rest."