Chapter Ten: Jon IV

Being named as a Princess' sworn shield was apparently a great deal of work, Jon thought to himself. Ever since the official ceremonies, there had been the vigil, fittings for new armor to better suit his new status, and Ser Barristan and Hammond drilling him on some of the finer details of his changed placement in the castle.

Jon inspected the new shield and sword he had been gifted were currently holding the bulk of his attention. The King had made some suggestions of getting him plate armor, but luckily, Ser Barristan's suggestions they wait a little while longer in the event if Jon wound up having a sudden growth spurt were ultimately accepted.

He was still wearing an ensemble similar to what he had for the past several years now, a set of boiled leathers and chain shirt, with some metal arm guards. The only major alteration it had undergone was to the black jerkin, now adorned with his personal coat of arms. A white direwolf with red eyes, emblazoned on a field of grey stood out starkly against the black, playing off of the reversed colors of House Stark, while also serving as a homage to the old gods.

Looking around, Jon was satisfied he had everything of his properly packed and stowed to be moved into his new quarters, only noticing a new arrival when there was a knock at the door.

"Congratulations, Ser Jon," said Breeze, "Both on your victory and your elevation."

"So you've said, Breeze," Jon retorted. "Many times, now."

"Only making sure you haven't dismissed all of this as a fevered dream after taking a blow to the head." Looking out the window to Blackwater Bay, Breeze breathed in the sea air. "As I recall, there a few close shaves before the melee came to a close."

Setting aside the shield, Jon secured the new sword to his belt. "I only got as far as I did because of Hammond."

"That's the way it is in war. Some men might only survive to the end due to the aid of others. You made it through on your own merits, and were able to showcase your skills. That you played things to your own strengths is no detraction from the scale of your achievements."

"It still feels rather sudden."

"Perhaps. How many namedays have you seen? Fourteen? Fifteen? I can think of plenty of lads who are still working to keep a hold on their weapons in training. You? You've held up in mock combat as well as actual battle. At your age, that is not a meaningless achievement."

Jon really had nothing he could say to that and looked around his quarters. He would likely be moved to quarters further in the Red Keep.

"Besides, it's not like you've already been named to the Kingsguard, and you weren't knighted at twelve. You have more time to prove yourself worth of the spurs and make the name you wish for yourself." Breeze looked Jon over, inspecting his clothing and brushing off his shoulders. To Jon's own pleasure, the discrepancy between their height had lessened considerably over the last year. "This is well made. Your sister's work?"

"Aye. Sansa was thrilled enough to make this, I worry how much aid Robb was compelled to provide."

A handful of servants walked into the chambers, picking up his things. Breeze pulled Jon aside.

"Let's leave them some room to work," he said, then turned to his squire, Crispin, why don't you help them out?"

"Of course, my lord."

[TSS]

The winding ways of the Red Keep had become easier to traverse without getting hopelessly lost, though Jon was still skeptical that he had come anywhere close to knowing all the different halls and corridors. Even after that time he and Breeze had gotten hopelessly lost.

Coming closer to the royal quarters, he spied Prince Joffrey approaching from the opposite direction.

Surprisingly tall for his age, Jon felt he had little to worry over what the prince could do to him on his own strength, and his performance in the yard only served to solidify this confidence. And yet, the boy swaggered up, full of arrogance and bluster. Though that might have well been due to the contingent of Lannister men-at-arms at his back, and the looming figure of his sworn shield.

With Breeze at his side and a few Baratheon men close at hand, so long as Jon minded his words, he needn't worry over whatever whims the Crown Prince might entertain. That in mind, he went about making certain this encounter was as brief as could be managed.

Bowing as propriety demanded, Jon schooled his features and called out, "Prince Joffrey," he said, "I trust today finds you well."

From the corner of his eye, Jon could see Clegane glowering at him a bit more harshly than was typical. Likely over his changed status in the Red Keep, Jon reasoned. It was not as if he asked to be knighted. Disdainful of knighthood in a way that no Northerner Jon had met could surpass, simply being knighted appeared to have Clegane scowl his way just that much more.

Unfortunately, as he was Joffrey's sworn shield and Jon himself would be a common fixture for the foreseeable future. Though he could take solace that there were knights aplenty in King's Landing for him to frown at.

The princely prat leered at Jon, as if debating what he would do. "I know not what my father is thinking. Knighting a barbarian you. And you didn't even have the decency to take your vigil in a proper ceremony, in a Sept."

"Begging your pardon, your highness," Breeze cut in, "your father is King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. And in that capacity, he may knight whomever he wishes."

Joffrey flashed his teeth, though Jon would hesitate to consider it a smile. "And yet he's has not recognized my talents."

"Just so, your highness, though I would advise asking him to find knight for you to serve as a squire first. Knighthood can be an unwieldy burden without due preparation."

"Don't presume to tell me what to do, dragon-lover. My father is a great warrior. I don't need to lower myself to cleaning anyone's armor.

A faint hinting of a smile graced Breeze's lips, and Jon held his breath as his friend spoke, "Of course, your highness. I am certain that, in time, you will live up to the legacies of your forebears."

Before the prince could rightly parse out his meaning, Myrcella's voice rang out from further down the way.

"Joffrey," she called out, approaching the standoff with Joy in tow, "if you are quite finished harassing my knight, could you perhaps send him to me?"

Taken aback by the sharp, dry tones his sister was wielding, the prince managed to rally, answering, "Merely correcting your sworn shield's impudence."

"If my sworn shield is out of order, then matters of disciple fall under my prerogative, or Father's, if his actions are truly beyond the pale."

The two siblings stared each other down, daring the other to move first. Before it could drag on too long, Joffrey scoffed and looked away.

"Very well, sister. I shall leave you to your mutt. Be sure to break him in, lest he bite you."

Myrcella continued to stared after Joffrey, a subtle tension in her jaw until her brother was out of sigh. Only then did the tension ease and the Princess addressed Jon and Breeze, leading them to her solar.

"I apologize, Ser Jon. It is as much my duty to shield you from undue scorn as it is for you to defend me."

"Think nothing of it, Princess," Jon answered. "And seeing as I will be often in the company of your family, I imagine this will not be the last of such encounters."

"Indeed."

Joy served tea for the both of them before settling next to her cousin. Breeze contented himself by standing by the door, leaning against the wall and resting a hand on his sword.

"Speaking of which, Breeze: I know my brother failed to understand the insinuation you made, but who, exactly, did you refer to as his 'forebear'?"

"That might best left unsaid, Princess."

"…I see. A pity, truly. If not for the trouble it would have caused, I have enjoyed his reaction to being compared to such…recognizable historical figures. It might even do him some good, if I thought him capable of self-reflection."

"Considering what my mother would have said to his face, that was perfectly mild, I assure you."

Myrcella blinked once, then twice, then turned apologetic. "I am terribly sorry, Breeze. That was inconsiderate of me." Seeing Jon's expression, she went on, "You know how my father is descended from Aegon the Unlikely, yes? Breeze is descended from his older brother, Aerion Brightflame."

Breeze worked his jaw, chagrined. "My grandfather is Prince Maegor Targaryen, and my mother is his only surviving child."

Nothing Jon could say felt adequate to address the revelation, not that Breeze seemed to take offense over it.

"I doubt many still think of it, as most seemed content to ignore him after his claim to the throne was dismissed in favor of Aegon the Fifth. It does make for some…peculiar conversations at home. Particularly when it concerns the King, though that is all that I will speak of here. And begging your pardon, Princess, but I believe you and Ser Jon have some more important things to address than our shared family tree."

"Of course, and thank you. Joy, could you and Ser Qarlton perhaps give us a moment of privacy?"

"As you wish, your highness," Joy replied, rising to curtsy before joining Breeze outside of the door.

The two sat until the sound of the door shutting finished echoing, whereupon Jon rose and extracted a parcel he had been keeping hidden in his jerkin. Myrcella had dispensed with formalities and leaned on the table in anticipation.

"And what is this?" she asked, an excitement more befitting her age.

"I had put in an order to have something made," Jon answered, "when I was first name your sworn shield."

He rolled out a belt of knives on the table between them. There were near a dozen in all, small enough to conceal and balanced for throwing, but could also be held in a smaller hand.

"While it is my pride and honor to serve you, as your sworn shield, it is my duty to see to your safety first and foremost, even in circumstances when I am unable to be physically by your side."

Myrcella's hand traced over the hilt of the first knife, slowly drawing it from its sheath and holding it out in front of her for inspection, and flipping it over in her hands.

Astonished, she said, "I would presume you mean to instruct me in their use."

"Just so, my Princess," Jon answered, a smile tugging at the sides of his mouth.

She gave him a mischievous smirk, and slid the blade back into its sheathe. "Then we need to fetch a block of wood."

A/N: So we finally get a clearer picture of Breeze's family background, Myrcella gets to sass her brother, and Joffrey is repeatedly insulted to his face without realizing it. Whatever my other reservations about this chapter are, those aren't counted among them.

There isn't a whole lot left but to forge on ahead to canon by this point, unless you want lots of repetition of life in the Red Keep. So, 50/50, the next chapter will be Jon Arryn's last days. Once that happens, we can get the ball rolling in earnest.

As per usual, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, theories and/or speculation, or just want to point out a discrepancy on account of writing this in the wee hours of the morning, leave a PM or review. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Until next time!

Winterman, out.