An Old Knight

[Moat Cailin 298 AC]

Old Ser.

Though his eyes are aged, there is little they did not see, and Barristan thanked the gods for that gift now as he crept through the ancient Gatehouse Tower of the even more ancient Moat Cailin. And as his cloak stirred in the wind that broke through the gaps in the rotting walls, his eyes again proved capable as he spied the spiders the size of his hand, spinning their webs in the high drafty ceiling.

He had seen the orange light break through the gaps in the bricks from the corner of his eye as he stood vigil outside the King's tent and followed the instincts that told him to see what it was, or who it was, that had produced that light. He heard heavy breathing, almost like a sleeping horse, and tightened his hold on his sword's hilt.

Barristan Selmy was confident enough to be sure that he could simultaneously take on ten moderate fighters. Still, it had been an age since he had faced anyone in an actual bout, so now he prayed it would only be one or two, not the ten.

Where the wolf had come from, he could not say; there was no sound from its approach, not even now, as it pinned him to the cold hard ground and snarled at him, razor-sharp teeth mere inches from ripping into his face. Then, he reached for his dagger, but the wolf snapped its mouth shut, and Barristan stopped. 'The second I touch it, I'll be dead.'

A boy no older than ten came running around the corner; he froze as he saw Barristan pinned beneath the wolf. He pulled out a dagger, held it up, and called back into the hall from where he came. "There's someone here, Jon! Someone's here with us!" Then, Barristan glanced at the boy and saw bright blue eyes and a peculiar mark over his right one.

And, as the wolf's drool dripped hot against Barristan's cheek, he heard someone running and the distinct sound of steel on leather; he knew that sound better than his parents' voices. Then, a moment later, a man with long hair came around the corner, pulled the boy behind him, and whispered something Barristan didn't hear.

"Your sword, Ser, slide it over to me," he said, his tone soft but firm, and Barristan felt his heart stir at the familiarity. "The dagger on your belt, that too, throw it to the side. Slowly, or Ghost will tear off your jaw." Then, as if to prove it, the white wolf snapped its jaws shut, shaving an inch of Barristan's beard off.

Swallowing his breath, Barristan nodded and did as told. Then, kicking his longsword toward the two, he heard the steel scrape against the stone until the man stopped it with his boot. "Now, the dagger." Barristan slowly reached for his dagger, freezing when the wolf narrowed its blood-red eyes before unclipping it and throwing it to the side.

The two came closer, and the boy bent down to pick up the sheathed dagger. He held it tight and stayed close behind the man, who had just stepped into the moonlight that shone through the collapsed wall. For a brief moment, Barristan saw the man that had given him the Bold moniker, tall and lean with black hair and violet eyes, but when he blinked, he saw a boy with an unkempt black beard and deep lilac eyes instead.

Barristan gasped, and the wolf tilted its head, still snarling its silent snarl. "Jon Snow?" He breathed and saw the boy stop in his tracks. "Is that you, lad?"

"Ser Barristan?" Said the boy he now knew was the same one Barristan had shamed himself by beseeching the King to allow him to accompany the royals to Winterfell to meet again. "Ghost, to me. Ser, I beg your pardon; he only tried protecting us."

The white wolf looked at Jon Snow, then Barristan, and snapped as if to say he was watching him before dashing to Jon's side. Then, Barristan rose to his feet, noting how the boy behind Jon tried and failed to hide the glee in his eyes, and stared at the potential son of one of the most remarkable men Barristan had the honour of calling a friend.

"Worry not, Lad, I understand. But, I may need new britches," he jested and saw the smile that had got the gears turning in his head all those years ago. And the same smile Barristan had yearned to see again for nigh on a decade. "What are you doing so far south?"

Then, Jon turned to the boy, whose bright blue eyes darted between the two in shock, and commanded him to wait inside the hall. However, the boy went to argue but stopped once Jon gave him a sharp look. "Now, Brynden." The boy, Brynden, did as told, his head hung low. Jon waited until the door closed before returning to Barristan, saying, "I assume you know the truth, my truth, Ser, or suspect it?"

Barristan felt joy blossoming inside his heart, and he was sure he had started grinning more than ever. "I suspected it but wouldn't dare believe it without evidence. So is it true, then?" Barristan would have gladly fallen to his knee the moment Jon gave the nod, but the quick shake of the boy's head stopped him; instead, he gave only a profound bow with his right hand over his heart. He could feel his heart racing.

"Aye, I saw the truth," Jon said, causing Barristan's smile to fade slightly; what did he mean by that? Barristan stood straight and looked at the deep lilac that belonged to Rhaegar- 'No, those eyes are Jaehaerys's.' "And as for why I'm this far from Winterfell, I'm to meet with Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. Do you know him, Ser?"

Barristan nodded, wondering, and then he recalled the tourney at Harrenhal, where the Rhaegar had confided him with the discovery of the knight of the laughing tree. But, unfortunately, his Prince had not told him exactly who the knight was; Rhaegar had only laughed and shook his head when Barristan had asked, saying that he had sworn in front of the Old Gods not to reveal the knight's identity.

"Ser Barristan?"

Barristan shook his head, thankful for being brought out of the memories, and smiled at Jon, saying, "Yes, I know the man. From my short meeting with him after the rebellion, I saw he was as good and true as they make them. And, if memory serves, had Reed and your mother not been close?"

"That's what I hope for," said Jon. "Howland was the only man, excluding my uncle, that left that accursed tower with his life." Barristan saw where his thinking was and agreed with it, too. "I don't believe for a second that my parents left nothing to confirm the truth, and I believe that truth is waiting for me with Howland Reed."

The white wolf called Ghost sat back on his haunches, his head reaching up to Jon's waist, and Barristan imagined the wolf shadowing the young man as a Kingsguard would. 'Without a doubt, the most dangerous of the seven,' he thought and couldn't help but smile. 'He's got the cloak for it.' Jon smiled, looked at the wolf, and ran a hand through the soft white fur. Ghost closed his eyes, content at the touch.

"Would that I could come with you," said Barristan, walking closer and touching Jon's shoulder. "But alas, I can not do so without raising some eyebrows. And there are some I would rather not rise, My Prince."

"The Spider..." said Jon, nodding, and Barristan couldn't help but smile when he hadn't corrected him on the title. "Aye, that one gives me pause as well. But that's for a later date. Now, Ser, I believe my uncle Eddard will accept the position and take my sisters with him, like as not."

"King Robert has always wanted one thing more than any," Barristan nodded. "A union between Houses Stark and Baratheon. He had been fighting with the Queen for years about the match, but Robert is stubborn. A Stark or no one, he says."

Jon's eyes shone hopeful, and Barristan readied himself for any task. "Will you watch over them? I trust the Stark guards; many of them I call friends, but still..."

Barristan squeezed Jon's shoulder before bowing deeply, a hand over his heart, and gave his solemn vow to do asked to the best of his abilities. "I swear by the Old Gods and the New, by Fire and Blood, I will not fail you, Jon."

"...Jaehaerys," he said quietly.

Barristan smiled. "Jaehaerys..."

—————

[Moat Cailin 298 AC]

Jaehaerys.

He handed Barristan his sword and smiled as the Old Knight bid him farewell. Then, when he reentered the hall with the large stone table, he sighed when he saw Brynden sitting sullenly on top of it. And when the door closed behind Jae, he saw Brynden lift his head and stare suspiciously at him. "How do you know Barristan the Bold?"

Jae lay back down on his cloak, Ghost curling up beside him, and saw Winter snoring in the corner of the room, his tail flicking the flies from his backside and huffing when they came right back. "Once, he offered to take me as his squire," Jae admitted, dragging his back to the boy. Brynden was rightfully surprised, and it showed. "There, I've answered your question, now go back to sleep."

Brynden looked aghast. "No, no, no," he shook his head, bushy brown hair bouncing wildly. "You can't just throw something like that at me and not expect a thousand more questions! Barristan Selmy wanted to take you as his squire; his?! Why on earth would you refuse that?"

Jae didn't deign the boy with an answer, only turning on his side to stare at the door. But then he remembered the day Eddard had refused the offer without asking for Jae's choice. He had been angry then, furious, even, but now he realised that he wouldn't have known Bran, Rickon, or even Arya as much as Jae did now had he gone with Barristan all those years ago. Still, Jae had a right to be bitter about it.

Then, he heard Brynden sigh and grumble something about Jae being an ass before crossing the room to fall asleep against Winter again. Jae kept his sword close at hand, his eyes locked on the door, and he felt Ghost nuzzle against him. 'If one man saw the light, another could have,' he told himself, gripping the sword's hilt.

The following day, Jae climbed onto the stone table and peeked through the gaps in the rotted bricks; he saw the large encampment preparing to set off—workers pulling down tents, knights putting their squires through the paces, and petty lords holding court as they broke their fasts.

He glimpsed white and saw Ser Barristan sparring against another knight, but this one's armour was gilded instead, and he wore a lion's head helm. That could only be Jaime Lannister. Still, even from this far away, Jae could see their skill difference. 'Lannister would lose in a real fight against Barristan, no doubt, but if I were to face him...' Jae hoped he would see the memories of Aemon, Baelor, or even Daemon to learn from them: he'd become the most celebrated swordsman since Arthur Dayne.

He was broken from his daydreaming when he heard a groan. And Jae hopped down from the table, turning to see Winter standing up to stretch his legs, walking around the large hall and huffing in annoyance at the lack of grass. Brynden yawned as he stood, scratching his head.

"Good morning, Jon," he said. "Are we leaving yet?"

"Morning," Jae returned, walking to the saddlebag and taking out two bags of salted beef, two pears, and a half-empty wineskin; he tossed one bag and a pear to Brynden before sitting down on the table. "They're readying to leave. Once the tail end of the march passes over the ridge, we'll ride down the Causeway. And, if we're lucky, we may find some forgetful squire's sword lying in the mud."

Brynden gave a nefarious grin. "It'll be a valuable lesson, don't you think?" Jae chuckled, sipped some wine, and offered the boy some.

Brynden took the skin, sipping it once before spitting it out of his mouth. "Gods! What is that?" Jae laughed and took the skin back.

"Not wine," he said.

"Then what? It tastes horrible!"

"It's not meant to taste good," Jae admitted. "It's rum, though I think it's a little off."

"A little," Brynden's face scrunched up in disgust. "It tastes like piss."

Jae lifted a brow. "And you've tasted piss before?"

Brynden glared at him, ripped off a piece of beef, and bit into his pear. Jae chuckled and started to break eating his portion. Although the banter between them was the same as always, Jae noted the slightly downcast mood of his squire. And when they finally finished breaking their fast, Jae sighed and looked at the boy.

"Don't be upset, Bryn," he said. "You'll know everything soon, alright?"

Brynden chewed on his lip, nodded, and stuffed the empty back into his pocket. "I know," he said. "And I'm not upset, just impatient. I'll get better. I promise I will."

Jae smiled and reached out to muss the boy's hair, chuckling when Brynden swatted his hand away, narrowing his eyes in disdain, but Jae still noticed the redness of Brynden's nose at the action. Jae nudged the boy and said, "We're close now, but it might take a few days to find the castle. Even Ghost will have problems smelling anything in the bogs."

Brynden nodded, and then he looked at Jae excitedly. "Is it true Greywater moves?"

Jae shrugged. "I've never been, but my uncles have, and they told me it was built on man-made islands that only the crannogmen know how to find. So maybe they're wargs; they claim descent from the Warg King, after all, and the Children of the Forest, too."

Brynden's eyes lit up like the stars. "So you think they can still use magic, like the uncle you told me is watching us through the ravens?"

"Could be," Jae nodded. "Or they're just good swimmers." Brynden gave him a look, and Jae snorted before sipping the spoiled rum. "Gods, that does taste like piss." Brynden laughed.

—————

[Greywater Watch 298 AC]

Howland.

Howland had sent Cyle Fenn and Torhen Blackmyre, two of his finest men, out to find Jaehaerys at Moat Cailin and escort him through the Neck back to Greywater. He would have gone himself, but the injury Dayne had given him at the tower all those years ago left him unable to sit a horse for more than two hours before succumbing to the pain. Jyana and Meera refused to let him go again so soon after returning from the mountain grove. So, Howland sat impatiently in his keep as he waited.

He kept looking at the trunk Lyanna entrusted him with. Him, not her brother, him. Howland still felt odd about that, but he would never fail the woman that defended his honour those many years ago. Still, he wondered why she had made him promise not to tell Ned about it.

Howland suspected it was private letters meant only for Jaehaerys's eyes, so he had not even opened the trunk. However, he was still tempted to do so over the years. Of course, he would never betray her trust, but keeping his curiosity at bay was difficult. And as Jae neared, he found it even harder not to take a peek.

It was an enormous chest, he reflected not for the first time; surely there can not be only letters inside. Rhaegar's harp? His sword? Mayhaps even an egg. 'No,' thought Howland. 'It can't be an egg. His is in the north.'

That was another thing his gods had shown him since Jaehaerys's sixteenth name day, almost half a moon ago; a great black shadow hidden in stone with orbs of wildfire gazing south forlornly. Howland wondered if the beast was as impatient as he was; he guessed it was. Centuries of solitude... Howland couldn't imagine the sadness the creature felt.

"Father," he heard his daughter enter his solar; he looked up from the trunk in the corner and smiled at her. Meera was sixteen, the same age as Jaehaerys, short and slim but swift as an eagle and far more skilled in fighting than Howland had ever been. "Are you thinking about the King?"

Howland's smile faded a little at that, and he wondered whether Jae would like being referred to as "King" or if he would instead be happier with just Jaehaerys. "Yes," he finally said. "Cyle and Torhen left late last night and should be coming up on Moat Cailin shortly."

Meera crossed the room and sat down across from him, a shy smile on her lips, and Howland knew precisely what his daughter had come to him for today. "Do you think he'll let go with him?"

"I'd rather you and your brother stay where I can see you," Howland said, but before Meera could argue, he spoke again. "But I know you and Jojen will only sneak away in the dead of night to follow him."

Meera smiled wolfishly. "We are your children," she said, and he shook his head, smiling softly. "But, that's not the only reason I sought you out, father. Jojen had another vision."

Howland sat a little straighter and leaned on his elbows. He nodded to his daughter to tell him everything, and when she was done doing so, he filled himself a glass of wine, downed it, and filled it another, sipping it. How could she be alive? Maybe Jojen saw it wrong. Perhaps it was only a glimpse into the past; Howland knew his son was more powerful than him, so he would write it off. But if it wasn't, and Jojen had indeed seen Seastar, then this could either be a boon or the worst thing that could have happened.

"If she is alive, it will be paramount that Jaehaerys masters his gifts as soon as possible," he finally said. "Jojen is the best one to teach him to do just that. I like it not, but it needs to be done. When Jaehaerys arrives, I will try convincing him to bring you both, but you must promise me something, Meera. Promise me you won't put yourselves in danger."

"I promise, father," she said, but Howland knew his daughter better than that. Meera was fiercely loyal and protective; she would face a thousand charging stags if it meant Jojen's life, and Jojen was much the same.

Howland sighed as Meera left, wondering what he did to deserve such incredible children. He sipped his wine and put a hand on the three-headed dragon that held a winter rose in its talons. And then, he closed his eyes and saw her smiling at him.

"Thank you, Howland."

——————————

Alex here!

Hi, hello, good day ol' chaps!

Thanks for reading this chapter.

This one is definitely one of my better ones, I don't know why, but I love it, and hope you do, too :D

So, again, I would like to ask for your financial support—i.e. Gimme 'em stones :P

I don't have much else to say, so... See you all in the next chapter; we'll be seeing Jae and Brynden arriving in Greywater, as well as some questions being answered. Look forward to it, and, if you want, leave some suggestions for the path the fic will be taking.

BYE!

-Alex