Winterfell, 295 AL.
Lysander.
"Whenever you have the time, learn. of your enemies, friends, potential allies and others. People love to speak of themselves and a glass of wine and a friendly word will loosen tounges. Use the knowledge against them or with them. Most are amazed that someone care enough to actually learn about them." Equites Lysander Asimachos.
Equites Lysander Asimachos.
Moving down the row, only pausing for the servant to fetch another bundle from one of the horses, he bowed to the dark-haired young Lady that was next in line, and recieved a short curtsy in return. The prospect of a gift was evidently enough even for young and strong-willed Arya to behave, he mused. "Lady Arya Stark." he said with a smile. "I have heard that you have more love for boys' games than for girls'." the yougn girl nodded, somewhat eagerly, as it seemed the whole family was watching this exchange. "In my home, it is rare for women to carry weapons." he could see a scowl on the young girl's face. "That is visible weapons." he continued, and withdrew the cloth over the gift ha had gotten from the servant. A leather harness adapted for a child, with half a dozen daggers attached. "These are Karastovlian throwing daggers that can be worn under a tunic or a dress, and placed so that one can always be easily accessed, regardless of your position." he withdrew a dagger and showed her. "Now, these are not sharpened." he could see a certain degree of dissapointment through the general glee on the young girl's face. "Now, don't fret. You are too young for sharp knives, and you will need to learn how to use them before you wield sharpened ones. If we meet again when you are older, I might gift you sharp ones. Or, when you have learned properly, and if your mother and father approves, you can probably have the smith sharpen yours." the young girl nodded with a smile, took the gift and immediately tried to strap the harness onto her torso, with limited success. He gave her a pat on the cheeck. "I can show you the basics later, young Lady." he said with a small laugh.
"Is that really proper for a Lady?" he heard Sansa say, looking it over. It seemed like the Lady wife of the Lord Paramount also was less than certain about this.
"Knowledge and ability is never wasted. Such tools are used by some high-born Ladies in the Empire of Karastovel."
"A proper Lady would be defended by a proper knight." the young Lady Sansa retorted. And earning her favour and perhaps a handkerchief embroidered with her house heraldry, she probably thought, the small wooden box still in her hands.
"In a perfect world, yes, Lady Sansa." he said. "Unfortunately, there are men out there that are not proper knights. The story of your aunt should probably tell you that." he said with a slight grimace. "A she-wolf should have some bite. If nothing else, the mere knowledge that she might, will keep young knights prim and proper." he added with a smile and glanced over to the parents. This was a bit of a wager, such a gift could easily be interpreted as an insult. However, a grim-faced Lord Paramount Stark seemed to nod, if not approvingly, at least not disapprovingly, while Lady Stark née Tully seemed to dislike the notion to teach her daughters that there were improper men in the world this early, but unwilling to insult a guest by ordering her children to reject gifts. For it would be hard to tell one of the children they could not keep a gift and let the others keep theirs. As there were no protests, he continued down the row again to young Bran, who seemed giddy with the prospects of a gift.
"Young Bran Stark." he said with a smile and a bow, which the seven-year-old returned. The Lord Paramount and his Lady wife knew how to raise corteous children, at least. Excellent. "I have heard you like climbing?" he said with an eyebrow slightly raised towards the child. "I do! I climb everything!" Bran replied entusiastically. He laughed a bit, and took a bundle from the servant and introduced a leather harness connected to a fine but strong, well-crafted hemp rope that ended in a little clasp connected to a string. "See this? This is what the men that polishes glass windows at the Grand Cathedral of Karastovel use when they climb. Connect the rope to a spike, a rope hung between two towers or something else, and you have something to catch you when you fall. And you can disconnect it with the thread..." he continued, before young Bran interrupted. "But I don't fall! I never fall!" the child claimed, almost insulted. He smiled and shook his head. "No-one does, until it happens. A frosty morning, a slippery stone, a rainy evening, a vine that does not quite hold. It can be quick. If it would happen, this will keep you safe. And using it..." he leaned in closer with a knowing glance towards the boy's parentsm, lowering his voice, almost whsipering and suddenly having a conspirational tone. "...will probably give your parents peace of mind enogh to let you continue to climb. We would not want them to forbid it, for real, do we?" he said and patted the child on the cheek. Bran seemed to consider it, and looked the harness over. Maybe, just maybe it was worth a try, if nothing else to end mother's constant nagging on the subject? He would not fall, but mother did not know that, and she kept nagging. "Thankyou, Equites." he said finally, thumbing the harness.
Speaking of the mother, she seemed to have forgotten to earlier gift to you Lady Arya and how improper it was, and seemed to beam with gratitude at this latest gift. That went decently well. If young Bran used the harness, all the better. But he could only try.
Continuing, he squatted down in front of the even younger Rickon, barely three years old. "Hi Rickon." he said with a smile, and the boy glanced over to his mother, probably wanting to hide behind her skirts, but remained and took a finger out of his mouth to reply. "Hi long man." he laughed at that and nodded. "I have a gift for you too." he said with a smile and took a bundle from the servant. "I heard you plan to be a great warrior when you grow up?" he said, eying the boy as if he wanted to know if that could really be true. "Yes!" the boy replied eagerly. "In my home, our knights use special weapons against the armour of other knights. They are called kataphraktoi in our language." he said. "Katafrakoi." the young Rickon echoed. "Just like that." he said with a smile and removed the cloth over a small flanged war mace made out of wood, painted so it looked very much like the real thing and decorated with leather-bound handle and brass rings. "This is a kataphrakt's mace." the child took the mace and with a squeal of delight he stared swinging wildly, forcing him to bid a hasty retreat. "Careful now, we don't want any heads bashed in pre-maturely, great little warrior!" he said with a laugh, and the young child calmed down, at least a bit. "Thankyou!" the child said, as he continued onward to the last recipent of a gift today, a dour-faced bastard, who seemed surprised that he stopped in front of him as well.
"Jon Snow." he greeted with a bow, which the young man who carried his fathers colours and looks returned with one of his own. "Equites Asimachos." Jon replied. "I must congratulate you on your luck." he said with a smile.
"My luck?" the young bastard replied, obviously conufused. "I don't think I understand."
"You are the freest of men." he replied.
"Freest?" Jon still looked surprised.
"The younger son of high nobility. No duties or responsibilities that you do not wish to take upon yourself. Free to marry for love rather than duty. Free to serve yoruself or others as you please." he said. "Many would envy you this."
The young man seemed confused, a look that slowly turned into understanding, and then brooding and deep thinking. He smiled faintly in the midst of his grim and brooding Stark look. "I like that term, 'younger son'. Is that what we are called in your home?" the bastard asked.
"It is a direct translation." he returned with a smile. "Free men among our people all have something to show that they are free." with that he took the last bundle from the servant and withdrew the cloth. A shortsword, with the scabbard bound to the scabbard of a dagger, looking very similar to the side armament of the Captain and his Condottieri. "A free man carries a sword, to defend himself and those that he chooses worthy of his efforts, to signify that he is free and not a slave, to fight for his freedom should it be necessary." the young man took the sword and dagger, pulling the sword, making almost no sound as it was pulled from its leather scabbard. The polished and pale blade was of the finest castle-forged steel that could be had. It was shorter than he was used to. But it was also his, and his only. A sword for a free man. He smiled a bit. "Thankyou, Equites. I shall treasure your gift. Does it have a name?"
He shook his head "Swords do not carry names where I come from."
"Why not?" the basard asked, a bit taken back.
"Swords are tools. The free man wielding it has a name and a personality, the sword does not."
It seemed like the young man thought it over, and nodded. He probably gave it a name himself.
Note: Images by my good friend John.