Jon VIII & Barristan III (AC 289)

Jon VIII

The great table on the first floor of the White Sword Tower was covered in platters of food. Fine grained bread, fresh vegetables and cuts of meat saved from the previous night's feast. More meat and vegetables were in the form of a rich stew, a large bowl of which had been carried across from the kitchens and simmered on the room's stove.

Lysa didn't care for these informal meals but Jon found them a pleasant change. Still, without her there was plenty of roomaround the table, even with eight chairs rather than the original seven.

"The servants think you're very strange to send them away when we dine." Bella observed to her father, doling out the stew into a bowl for him.

Robert grinned broadly and patted the girl on the head. "I am very strange," he said cheerfully. "Goodness, I hope you're not as slow as your sister, Cassana," he added, moving his hand to the head of the little girl sat next to him. "All these years and she hasn't noticed something like that?"

The little girl made a noise that could have been agreement - or the reverse - and dug her spoon into the bowl already before her.

Jon sighed. There was a familiar pain to seeing Robert and Alysanne surrounded by children. Until Cassana had been born, he'd wondered if Robert was over-reacting and lavishing care on Mya and Bella that Alysanne reasonably did not. The truth, he'd realised, was that Robert cared for all his children - in his way.

Bella isn't so slow, he thought. I all but raised you, Robert - and after so many years I still don't understand what's going on inside your head.

Across the table, Alysanne shook her head at her husband's behaviour. "I believe the word that that Lord Florent used to describe your father was eccentric, Bella."

"What does that mean, your grace?" asked Mya, wrinkling her brow.

"Strange," Alysanne admitted, filling a spoon with the broth of the stew for Eddard, who sat on her lap and regarded everyone with a wide-eyed look and probably very little comprehension.

"No, no," Daenerys proclaimed. "It means you're strange and have money!"

"Oh, you remember that?" asked Robert ruefully. "Memory and wearing shoes - you are wearing shoes?"

The little Targaryen nodded.

Robert sighed. "By the time we're back, you'll probably be reading too."

Jon saw Daenerys shoot a sidelong look at her brother. "Do you have to leave, cousin Robert?"

"Being a king... or a lord, or a father for that matter... means sometimes needing to do things you may not want to do," he replied carefully.

Viserys looked as if he'd bitten his tongue.

Reluctantly, Jon set down his stew and the bread he'd dipped in it. "Viserys, if we could step outside for a moment."

The boy understood that it was an order, not a request although he defiantly grabbed a carrot from one of the bowls. Washed in boiled water, according to Robert's odd preference. Jon didn't care for that - his teeth weren't as sound as they used to be.

They went up stairs to the next floor, which was divided into six small chambers that had once been the private chambers of the Kingsguard. "If he didn't want to be king," snarled Viserys - careful not to shout loud enough to be heard downstairs "Why did he kill father?"

There's no point arguing over trivia. Viserys knew the facts of the matter but they weren't more than details. Robert would have killed Aerys, just as surely as he had killed Rhaegar. And that had been the result of a screaming match that Robert hadn't punished the boy for.

If a man can't be angry for his father's death, he'd said when Jon asked him, then why did Ned and I come here in the first place.

Another tangled recollection but now, with winter between them and the Rebellion, it's sinking into the realm of songs and causes.

"Your father summoned him to King's Landing to kill him," he reminded Viserys. "He and Ned together. From the moment that raven winged its way to the Eyrie, it was death for Aerys or death for Robert. And with your father's line discounted, no one else had as good a claim to the throne as Robert."

"He talks like he hates being king."

"He likes the privileges and hates the responsibilities." Jon shrugged. "Your father felt about the same way and dealt with it all by handing the responsibilities over to Tywin Lannister. Robert... deals with it differently."

"Of course you'd be on his side."

"Of course I would be." Jon reached over and clapped Viserys on his shoulder. "Let's go back down before the stew is cold. And in the morning, see Ser Brynden about your sword and your armour. You'll need to be sure it's all in good condition when you go to war."

Down the stairs again and there were plates across the top of their stew bowls. "Papa said it would keep your stew warm," Cassana explained. "Do you think uncle Renly will read stories to us like you, papa?"

"Well you can ask him when he and Stannis arrive," Robert told the girls.

Renly will probably prefer it to going to war, Jon thought. As if his brothers would agree to all three of them being on the same battlefield. "Maybe he's old enough to squire for me," he suggested.

"Only if you tell Stannis," Robert said quickly.

Barristan III

Barristan Selmy had thus far always arrived at and departed his holdfast through the lands of House Ryswell, his southern neighours, and to ride west was new to him, although the Stony Shore was directly downriver of the lakes north and south of the tower he'd made a home for Ashara and their son, Duncan.

"The Ironborn struck here before," Lord Willem Dustin advised as they road along the riverside, followed by the levy of fighting men that had rallied to the name of Barristan the Bold. Although the scarred lord ruled Barrowton, with it's own outlet to the Saltspear, he had ridden west to advise his onetime comrade. "At one time the Hoares ruled much of the western shore of the North but by Torrhen's day they'd been driven off."

"I hear tell of the Fisher Kings once reigning in these lands."

"Aye," agreed Willem. "But House Fisher bowed the knee to Winterfell and their last lords were slain centuries ago. There are no great lords on the Stony Shore, only small houses - knightly by the standards of the southern lands."

Barristan nodded in understanding. It was thus that lands had been open for Lord Stark to grant to he and Ashara. A quiet land, or it would have been save for Balon Greyjoy. And remote enough that there would not be suspicion the old affection between Ashara and the northerner she'd once been sweet for might rekindle. "These hills could be good horse country."

"After a fashion, but southern chargers find the North hard." Dustin patted his own horse, smaller and with a shaggier coat than Barristan's mount. "I'm surprised you saw a horse like that all through winter."

"We had to heat the stables," admitted Barristan. "I let smallfolk shelter there too, to make best use of the fires."

"Hmm. Well I suppose you don't have much livestock yet."

"Dornish horses are bred to cope with the heat of day and the chill of night. Perhaps I should speak to the Daynes and see if I can buy some with King Robert's gold. If I can breed destriers hardy enough for northern winters, that would enrich my lands."

"I would buy some," Willem agreed. "The Barrow knights have ever been the best horsemen of the north - we would not wish to be outmatched by some latecomer."

"Your folk are not from the south, like the Manderlys, I gather. How is it that you practise knighthood?"

"Oh, you are right. But we Dustins and the Flints have always had closer ties to the south than our neighbours. We do not worship the Seven, but enough of our young men fostered or went to war south of the Neck that the practise spread north."

Barristan nodded his understanding. "Since we speak of fostering?"

"Oh?"

"It is too early for our sons to be fostered, but I would like for my son Duncan to foster with a Northern House. Ashara and I are outsiders to too many."

"Ah, I had not thought." Willem frowned. "My goodfather Rodrik Ryswell has offered to foster Mark when he is old enough. If you would write to him, I shall add a note saying I favour the idea of our sons fostering together. I think he would like the idea, although he will want some favour in return. Perhaps a horse from your future herds?"

"I haven't even bred them yet!"

"Well if the idea has merit..." The northern lord chuckled. "Although even if you had scores of warhorses it might matter little in this war, my friend. No horse can swim from the mainland to the Iron Islands. For that we will need ships."

"Aye, and there are few in the west I gather?"

"The Manderlys are the only northern house with any number ships and they are all in the East."

"Could they be portaged past Moat Cailin, perhaps? I do not know the lands but according to the maps the swamps of the Neck reach almost to the head of the Fever River?"

There was a laugh. "Ah, you do not not know the lands, Ser Barristan. The Neck's swamps are far too shallow for any ships and the hills around the Fever river are hardly possible for men on foot, much less hauling a ship. No, such a route would be impossible. Besides which, half the crews would take ill - the river is well named. Any Manderly ships we will see must come to us by way of the Summer Sea. Not a short voyage."

Barristan nodded. He remembered Aerys had once considered cutting a canal across the Neck but grown bored of the idea. Probably Lord Tywin had realised the difficulties involved and arranged to divert the King's attention. He had been erratic even as a young man.