"It's an honor to meet you, my lord." Jon said earnestly, inclining his head towards the older man. "My father speaks very highly of you."
"Ned's like a son to me." The Lord Arryn said, his back straight and a soft smile on his face. "I'm quite flattered that he named you after me."
"He did?" Jon asked, trying to connect the dots in his head. He did.
"Don't sound so offended."
"I mean he could have chosen some great knight or King…" Jon said, the lord's expression turned quite stony, before he allowed himself a small chuckle, which the Blackfish, standing beside him shared.
"You've rubbed off on him Brynden, his father would have started apologizing." The Lord said. "Speaking of, he did write to me about you, and attached a letter for your eyes only."
The old man took the folded parchment from his pocket and gave it to him, Jon knew it was impolite to open it immediately, so he stood there until he was dismissed, the two men walking off discussing some business or other.
He took the opportunity to run off to some isolated corner, which was harder said than done, the festivities were in full swing, troops enjoying songs and love sick teenagers lounging awkwardly on the grass not twenty feet from where someone was in an argument with a merchant.
Eventually, he settled on a few abandoned stalls, their owners moving on before Lord Arryn arrived and the contests began, even still, there were people not too far from him, but this was the best he could do without leaving the grounds entirely.
'To Jon,
I hope this letter find you well, we—'
That was as far as he got before the letter was snatched from his hands, at first, he thought it was Mya trying to be funny, but then two arms seized his from behind, and he saw a spindly man toying with it, he wondered who it was that had issue with him, then he recognized the man's weasel like features. A Frey
"Does the bastard think he can read?" The Frey asked, playing with the paper.
He tried to overpower whoever was restraining him, but the man's grip was stronger than he expected, he tried again to the same result, but regardless, he refused to entertain the Frey's mockeries.
"Spying on Ser Brynden's letters? Hmm?" The Frey continued, still sauntering about with unbelievable smugness in front of him. "You are a bastard after."
Jon was growing tired of this, and he must have loosened the grip of the man restraining him somewhat, so rather than try to break his arms apart, he planted his feet and spun his hips, the motion caught the man behind him by surprise, and Jon managed to slam the man's abdomen into an abandoned table, he heard a groan of pain from behind him as his grip finally broke.
Jon tried to swing around with a punch, but the man who was grappling him, one who was taller and younger than he had given him credit for, avoided it expertly, then tackled Jon to the ground, where the two rolled and wrestled about the mud like pigs to the laughter of the Frey watching them.
"Enough! Enough!" A new voice shouted, another young man, though this one seemed intent on deescalating the situation, he pulled Jon off the other boy and put his body between them, Jon roughly recognized him, he was one of the boys who sparred with Ser Royce the other day. "Leave him alone Hardying."
"Redfort," Said the tall boy, Hardying breathing heavily and rising to his knees. "I'll be your liege lord one day, you ought to show me some respect."
"A Lord Paramount of the Vale can afford himself a better taskmaster than a Frey." The new boy, Redfort said.
"Frey?" the Hardying asked, he had short, sandy hair and deep blue eyes, a confused look crossed his face and a simmering tone to his voice, before looking back to the Frey who was still holding the letter. "You said you were a Tyrell."
"Well, Frey, Tyrell…" The Frey boy's posture immediately shifted from arrogant, confident and cruel to terrified and embarrassed, he started slowly backing up, before quickly tearing apart the letter and running off, the three pursued, but only 'Hardying' continued the chase, Jon stopped at the remains of the letter, trying to piece it together, while the other boy stood next to him, not knowing what to do.
"What a piece of shit." Mya said, suddenly appearing in her usual leather jerkins, the Redfort was shocked and blushed at her language, but Jon only gave a small smile. "Sorry about the letter…"
"It's not your fault," Jon said, standing up, and dusting his knees. "There's nothing you could have done."
"There was, she sent me to help." The other boy declared proudly; he was about Jon's age, with a head of short brown hair and an honest face, he spoke in a higher tone when he talked about Mya. "She wanted to introduce us, Mychel Redfort, sorry about your letter, friend, but don't be too harsh on Hardying, he's second in line for the whole Vale after Lord Arryn's son, and he'll do anything to impress people."
"Then he should try harder not to make an ass of himself." Jon said, the description of the boy sounded far too similar to Theon Greyjoy for Jon to give the man any credit. "It was a letter from my father."
'if I could have' 'always have a home' 'visit' were the only things he could make out from the pieces of the destroyed parchment.
"The Quiet Wolf." Asked Mychel, before nodding his head. "Your father is a legend in the Vale, that was a cruel thing to do."
"Sorry Jon." Mya said, walking over and resting a hand on his arm. "Was that Frey after you for something or is he just that much of cunt?"
Jon let the pieces of the letter fall to ground and rested his hands on his hips.
"I think I made an enemy of the Freys after I called the Lord Frey a craven in his hall…"
"How did you manage that?" Redfort asked, chuckling along with Mya.
And he told the story, and soon one story turned to two, then three and four and five until the they were freely wandering the disparate tourney grounds, markets and meadows retelling stories of youthful misadventures and family escapades until noon turned to afternoon and afternoon to evening.
They had wandered off the tourney grounds to a clearing, sitting around extinguishing fires and doing stupid dares like jumping in rivers and making idiots of themselves in front of strangers.
At one point, Redfort bragged about being able to secure them ale, Jon liked the idea, but he'd rather not be drunk when the grounds were so infested with Freys, instead he went to a nearby stream tried desperately to catch some fish.
"You know for someone who's a squire of the Blackfish." Mychel said, grabbing loosely at the waters. "I expected you to be better with fish."
"That's a terrible jape Redfort." Mya said, "I think it might be too dark for us to see the fish."
"No." Jon objected, trying the hardest in an effort to impress his new and old friends. "It was always this dark when the Blackfish went fish catching."
"Excuse me." Said a voice from behind them, and the three turned from the river and looked up at a quite tall and regally dressed lady, favoring loose tunics and plates to a traditional dress, holding a familiar squirming boy by the ear, the same one who was tussling with Jon earlier. "Are you Ser Tully's squire?"
"Yes."
"My ward brings me ill tidings." She said, squeezing his ear tighter, which only made him squirm more. "And he has something he would like to say."
"I'm sorry for stealing and being rude." Hardying said, and the woman hit him over the back of the head. "And I'll be better."
"As you were." She said, nodding and leaving the group of now four.
"Who was that?" Mya asked.
"Lady Anya Waynwood, my prestigious foster mother." Hardying said quietly and bitterly when she was out of earshot, in truth the boy looked far too old to be treated like that. "Now listen, I want revenge over that ferret as much as you do."
"As much as I want revenge against you." Jon objected, climbing to his feet and looking the older boy in the eyes.
"I didn't think he'd tear the letter!"
"Really?" Jon asked, with much of the sarcasm he'd learned from Brynden.
"Why else would I snitch on myself?" Hardying said, raising his arms in frustration. "He wanted to give you a hard time and I agreed to help, but he played me for a fool."
"And what a fool you made." Jon said, but crossed his arms and sighed. "Very well, what do you have in mind?"
"I know where he sleeps, after he thought he lost me, I trailed him to his family's pavilion, quite a dank and miserable thing, no wonder he refused to show it to me earlier."
"Your plan is to repay treachery with yet more treachery?" Redfort asked, to everyone's collective annoyance.
"Mychel, as cute as your knightly honor usually is, please let the boy talk." Mya said.
"No, seriously." He said, even though Jon could see his cheeks redden in the firelight. "We should report him to his knight, try to mend bridges."
"His knight is likely another Frey, sooner to congratulate him than chastise him." Jon said, he could tell Brynden, but the man's relationship with the Freys was fraught enough, truth be told, Jon would rather sort this out himself.
"Are we to assault an entire pavilion of Freys to get him then?" Redfort asked.
"They're Freys." Hardying said dismissively.
"For once, I agree with the blond, I like those odds." Jon said, but before they could rush off, Mya grabbed a hold of his arm.
"Orrrr, we can sneak in." Mya said. "We wait for most of them to fall asleep, then we sneak in while one of us distracts the Freys that are awake, that way no one walks in on us, then we kidnap him."
"We're rightfully seizing him, for revenge, no kidnapping involved." Hardying said rather quickly. "But then what do we do with him?"
"Well, you know what's the worst way to wake up?" Jon said, then inclined his head back in the direction of the river, to the smiles of two of his three companions. "And I have the perfect distraction."
He turned his gaze to his last, unsmiling companion, who was already franticly shaking his head.
"Ser Frey? I've come to inquire about one of your kinswomen, she's said to be the fairest rose of the Riverlands." Mychel said as he approached the open flaps of the Frey pavilion, his co-conspirators standing around the corner and peeking their heads, Jon hoped the boy remembered his instructions, never agree to anything, don't offended anyone and don't let anything stop you from leaving, it took Mya kissing him on the cheek to coerce him into participating, so he hoped he did his job well.
They were currently amid the noble pavilions, and they were surrounded by endless rows of tents and carriages, it was quite late, but not egregiously so, they had spent some time charting out the shortest and least traveled path to the stream.
They hoped this would also mean the Frey was sound asleep, else this whole prank would be for nothing.
They creeped around the back, as quiet as mice, the pavilion was in reality a huge grey colored and well-used tent, almost every section was well lit, allowing them to see backlight figures scour towards the entrance where they were likely eyeing Mychel like a prized goat.
The single unlit section was near the back, where the three of them converged, whispering in low voices.
"This has to be it." Hardying said. "How do we get inside?"
Jon unsheathed his new dagger and struck it into the cloth of the tent, before slowly slicing downward as to not make any noise while the other two stood nervously near him, he then slipped into the tent, placing his foot right on the side of someone's head.
It seems he cut his way in near someone's bedroll, he pointed down at the sleeping man and only continued when Mya and Hardying nodded.
The sleeping area was quite large, a cheap carpet quilted the floor, and on it laid almost a dozen mattresses, though not all of them full.
He carefully stepped his second foot over the man's head, and then went to check every occupied mattress, it was difficult to see in the low light, but he could dismiss a few immediately, either a woman's long hair was spread across the pillow, or the person in the bed was too tall to be their query, or too wide…
A finger suddenly tapped his shoulder, Mya was behind him, pointing off to a mattress Hardying was overlooking, he approached and closely examined it, before giving the other boy a thumbs up, this was their man.
They spread to both sides of the mattress, and Hardying gently hooked his arms under his shoulders, while Jon positioned his arms under his knees, they gave each other a look, before they began to slowly lift.
They waited for one never ending moment, before they heard him softly snore again, Hardying began to back up to the exit they made, almost trampling the sleeping man laying across the floor before Mya slapped his arm to warn him, he had the decency to look embarrassed, before he carefully stepped over him.
Jon was in turn dragged forward by the body connecting both of them, and planted his foot back on the sleeping man's pillow, he froze as soon as Hardying stopped, then felt the sleeping man's head roll onto his foot, he looked down, but Mya came to the rescue again, bending down and gently moving his head back to the pillow.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they were outside, he looked to make sure it was the right Frey, and the two waited for Mya to emerge.
She took a moment to inspect him as well, then chuckled silently to herself.
"It would have been embarrassing if we kidnapped the wrong one."
"We're not kidnapping anyone!"
"Shh."
Mya ran ahead, only one of them could see the signal to continue, the other would have their back turned, they nodded and backed up, waiting for her to scout the next corner ahead.
They continued for a while, navigating the narrow alleys created by adjacent pavilions until they were at the edge of the city of tents, ahead of them were the busy stalls, though at this time a night the activity had wound down to a crawl.
"You girl!" They suddenly heard, and their eyes bulged open, but Mya thought on her feet and approached the voice calling out to her, while Jon and Hardying slowly shuffled away, hoping they were still unseen. "What're you doing sulking about, are you meant to be here?"
"You did not raise your voice at me you lowborn mongrel!" She shouted. "I'll have my father carve out your eyes."
"What the fuck is she doing…" Hardying whispered in a low voice, resignation painted on his face.
"Milady, I, I simply—" The man said, now sounding very cowed.
"Off with you then, now." She said in a commanding tone, while Jon and Hardying were crouching awkwardly in the dark, having a silent argument about whether to continue or wait for her to return, which was interrupted when she did return a minute later.
"We're good, hurry."
She turned and ran, waving them across, they sprung into action quickly followed her, trying to chart a dead path through the stalls.
"That was some quick thinking there." Hardying whispered, the Frey's snoring head resting on his chest.
"Thank you." She said. "It's rather fun to be on the dealing end of the beratement."
They moved more quickly, now that their package had proven himself quite the heavy sleeper, it was more of the same, but the correct path was more critical now, unless they wanted to risk any more busy roads, they passed plenty of fires and figures, and had a few close calls when someone would hear them and start loudly asking who was there, and they needed to quickly rush away.
"Mya." Jon hissed. "We've passed this stall twice already."
The girl ahead turned, and looked at it, before scratching her head.
"Shit." She said.
"Are you kidding me?" Hardying said, looking around. "Do we leave him here, maybe smear the horse shit on his face for when he wakes up."
"No, we see this through to the end," Jon said. "Mya, you scout ahead, see if you can find the path again."
She nodded and sprinted off, the awkward silence between the boys returning.
"I asked around about you." Hardying said in a low voice. "Word has it you bested Robar Royce, repeatedly in fact."
"Your point being?"
"How about a friendly spar?" Hardying said. "If the rumors are true, then whoever wins should win the squire's tourney."
"I'm not participating in it, but I'll take your challenge for a spar."
"Truly?" Hardying asked, his expression confused. "Why pass up an opportunity for glory and renown?"
The hollowest of glory and the falsest of renown.
"I caught our bearings." Mya said in a low voice a second later, having come back to them.
They seemed to be on the right path again, returning to the rhythm of moving, waiting, moving and waiting, it looked like they were going to make it, until Jon heard some very loud singing.
"THE BEAR, THE BEAR, THE MAIDEN FAIR!"
Mya sprung back and covered the Frey's ears, Hardying started backing up, Jon however, dropped the legs and ran to the source of the singing.
"Hey!" Jon said, not knowing what to do when everyone looked at him, it seemed to be a single lute player, leading a crowd of half a dozen or so men through the song, they were drinking, playing cards and throwing the occasional coin at the man. "We're trying to sleep!"
"Fuck off kid." One of the men said, and gestured for his friends to continue, but Jon pushed ahead.
"Let me make you a bet." Jon said, drawing their attention again, though still unsure of the next words to come out of his mouth.
"Just cover your ears and go to sleep." The man said, exasperated, Jon looked back, Hardying and Mya hadn't moved much, and he didn't think even the Frey's deep sleep could bear more rowdy music.
"We play a game of cards, I win, you quiet down for the night." Jon said, shortly before remembering he didn't know how to play cards. "If you win, you get this dagger."
The man looked ready to dismiss it, until he laid eyes on the dagger, and gestured Jon to approach, taking it to examine closely.
"You're not really considering it." The man to his left said. "We haveta stop the music so you can win a shitty dirk?"
"It's good fucking steel." The man barked back, quieting any more complaints and tearing his eyes from it. "Do your old mate this favor, it'll only be a moment."
The rest of the men groaned, but none protested further, one man, sitting opposite Jon's challenger, abandoned his chair for another, allowing Jon to take his place, his opponent looked him up and down, then leaned forward and looked him in the eye.
"Are you a man of your word little knight?" He asked. "Or will you run off and tell you father that someone stole your dagger when you lose?"
Jon scoffed at the idea, he was originally doing this to buy Mya and Hardying some time, but now this man questioned his word.
"Do not take me for a scoundrel." Jon said.
"Good, good." He said, everyone's eyes were on the pair and the cards the other man held. "Then I'll stick to my word, do you know how to play Fortune's Flush?"
"I do not." Jon said shaking his head.
"Tough luck, here's your hand." The man said smiling and started dealing out cards, Jon raised an eyebrow at his gall, then reached forward, grabbed his hand and holding it it in place.
"Now it is I who must ask for some integrity, ser." Jon said, the rest of the men around the table were suddenly tense, looking ready to throw hands if they had to, and Jon did not think he could handle them all at once, but he would not be made a fool nor taken advantage of. Better take a beating on my feet than avoid one on my knees. "It makes for a poor deal if both parties do not start on even ground, no?"
The tension in the air hung for a second, he saw eyes scanning him and trying to size him up, and in his mind he ran through a hundred ways he could escape if it escalated to violence, but through it all his confident, aggressive demeanor never cracked.
"You certainly have balls on you boy." An older man sitting to his right said, laughing under his breath, his hair was white and thinning and his beard reached the table, his arm moving to pull Jon's hand off. "Very well, I'll explain the rules to you."
The man he was gambling against dealt out three cards for each man, then took a big pile of coppers and began splitting them between himself and Jon, while the greybeard started reciting the rules.
"It's a dornish game, each of you will have twenty coppers, whoever gets all forty wins the bet." The old man said. "Each turn you're forced to gamble away at least one copper, if your opponent bets more, you're forced to match his bet, potentially losing it all if his hand is better, or fold your cards and lose whatever you've bet already."
"What's to stop me from betting all twenty every turn and forcing him to lose a copper every time if he does not match?"
"Nothing, you could, but if he matches your bet when your hand is weaker, you lose immediately."
"What determines the strength of a hand?"
"The highest number, from one to ten." The man said, pulling a random card from the deck and showing it to Jon, it had a seven written on it, as well as seven small stags drawn on it. "Stronger than that is two cards of the same number, two threes will beat one ten, then it's three numbers in a row, a five, a six then a seven for example, then it's three cards with the same symbol, so three cards with stags, three roses, three dragons or three hearts, then it's three cards of the same number, those trump all, understood?"
Jon ran it over in his head one more time, a higher number, then a pair, then ascending order, then three matching symbols, then three matching numbers.
"Understood." Jon said, he took a look at his cards, the only thing he had was a seven, the other man had a dozen ways of beating him, he threw the cards aside and slid the man a copper. "Fold."
"Good." The older man said. "Every turn, if neither folds, you can discard one of your cards and draw a random one, or not, until one of your cracks."
The next hand, Jon was given had a six, another poor hand, he considered trying to bluff the man into thinking he had a strong hand, but thought better of it, throwing aside his cards and sliding another copper.
The man must now think me a conservative and safe player. Jon thought, his next hand he only had a three, but instead of folding, Jon bet five more coppers, causing his opponent to fold. A game of deceit and catching deceit.
In truth, Jon found both distasteful and thought himself bad at them, but he found himself enjoying the game far more than he thought he would, and being far better at than he expected, peering into his opponent's soul with every bet and fold he did, trying to predict what to do and what his opponent thought he would do.
At one point, Jon was down nine coppers to thirty one, part of him accepted that he might lose, but the competitive part him, the same one that drove him to practice his swordwork for thousands of hours, refused to accept defeat so easily, that was when he realized it, the man always seemed to stare him in the eyes whenever he lied, trying too hard to project strength where there was none to intimidate him, he had fallen to it a few times, but now he was using it his advantage, and quickly won back any coppers he lost.
"Three more." The man said, pushing forward three of his seven remaining coppers.
"Let's make it a clean seven, I think." Jon said, he barely had a pair of twos in his hand, the man paused, then bitterly folded a pair of sevens, cursing and kicking when Jon revealed his cards.
"If you lose to a boy…" the man next to his opponent said, shaking his head, though his opponent only turned to him in anger.
"It's his fault for helping him!" He objected, pointing to the older man who had taught Jon the game.
"My mother didn't raise a thief!" The older man said.
"How old are you? Your mother was likely the conqueror's mistress!" his opponent said, to the laughter of everyone on the table.
"Just deal the cards, my good man." Jon said, cutting through their yelling, rather pleased with what he had drawn.
"It's alright, I've four more coppers, I can come back." The man said, pushing one to the middle of the table, but then Jon pushed four forward immediately, causing the man to grow an angry scowl. "You know what? Fuck you, you've bluffed me too many times."
The man pushed forward all his remaining coins and revealed his two nines, but then Jon revealed three dragons to the groaning of the crowd as the man put his hands in his arms, though Jon only felt a small sense of pride.
"You lost to a child." Another man said, a sentiment seemed to be felt across the table. "How old are you?"
"Five and ten." Jon said, rising to his feet.
"Shut up." His opponent said over his companions' laughter. "I guess we'll keep it down…"
"You know what?" Jon said, looking over and finding Hardying and Mya were long gone. "My knight has a place in the castle, I insisted we sleep outside, we can move, you can enjoy yourselves."
The men hoorayed as he turned to leave, but he heard a voice call him out, his opponent threw him a deck of cards wrapped in twine, not the one they were playing with, rather a spare from his bags.
"You won them fair and square." He said with a smile. "What's your name?"
"Jon Snow." He answered honestly and the man nodded along.
"Here's to your health!" He said, raising his cup, the others joined and cheered. "If you do get that knighthood, look up the Griffon's Band!"
Jon felt his lips naturally curl into a smile, he slightly inclined his head in acknowledgement, before running off.
It took him a few minutes to find out where he was, then to find his way to the stream where they were meant to meet up with Redfort, it was much easier to navigate without needing to drag a body along, he found the large yellow tent, ran to the tree to the south, then from there he could see the fire in the distance, and two figures casting a shadow over it.
Mya and Hardying were whispering and laughing at something or other, they were startled at his arrival, but soon settled down.
"Where the fuck did you run off to?" Mya asked, Hardying still seemed taken aback every time she swore, though Jon was used to it.
"Made some friends." Jon said, then waved her away. "Where's Frey?"
They pointed to the curled figure on the floor, still snoring like a babe.
"You made the lady carry him." Hardying said.
"Eh, I spend my days pushing bison and mules, it's no big deal."
"Did you do the shit smearing?" Jon asked.
"Aye, she was carrying it in her pockets." Hardying said, wrinkling his nose, and it was maybe the first time Jon truly sympathized with him.
"And now it's all over his face and down his shirt." She said with a smile, then narrowed her eyes at the approaching figure in the distance. "Is that Redfort?"
It was indeed Redfort, who arrived gasping and complaining. "He tried to make me sleep there! 'Welcome the newest member of the family' he said."
They quietly laughed at his suffering, but then they turned their attention to the figure of the ground, Jon and Hardying eyed each other, before approaching him, Hardying grabbed his hands, while Jon grabbed his ankles, and they lifted him up with much less gentleness, then approached the side of the river and began swinging him back and forth, struggling to keep their expressions straight.
He slept as still as a log, even as he went sailing through the air and crashing into the water, they watched for a few moments, but soon the water was disturbed as he awoke and franticly tried to find his bearings, they could see the flailing limbs and occasionally surfacing head.
Eventually he found his footing and quickly peered his head over the water, only for Mya to nail him in the middle of the forehead with a leftover piece of shit and for him to fall back again, to the laughter of everyone at the riverside.
Jon felt Hardying grab his shoulder and pull him along, following Mya and Mychel who were sprinting away, they ran after them, hearing cursing echoing behind him and the hysterical laugher ahead of him.
Ages might be funky wunky but in this story
Jon 15
Mychel and Hardying 16
Mya 18
Also fun fact that card game actually existed in the real world during the 1500s was later remade into poker on the American frontier.
