Chapter 77 - City of Banners

Vhalar spat a shred of dried meat over the side and told Goro to bring the oars in.

The wind had freshened while Jon was below. It filled the sail above Vhalar's galley and sent the loose ends of the ropes tapping against the mast. Cloud hung low over the mouth of the Blackwater. The water beneath it was green-grey, breaking white along the ship's side whenever her bow dropped into a wave. Jon steadied himself against a rail rough with dried salt.

The rowing benches filled the long waist of the galley, with scarcely room between them for a man to pass. Spare clothing and rolled blankets lay beneath the seats. Along both sides the oars rose together, shedding water across the hull. A sailor ducked under the loom of an oar and received a cuff from its owner for his trouble. The men drew the blades in, breathing hard; beneath the creak of the mast Jon could hear bare feet shifting upon the wet boards.

"He has been told twice," Goro said.

"Then find him work where he cannot trip a rower."

Goro caught the sailor by the sleeve and sent him forward. He did it without interrupting the orders passing down the galley. Jon watched the last oars settle before turning towards the raised stern.

Gawen emerged from the horse stalls, brushing straw from his knees. Aries followed with the empty water bucket, his sleeves rolled above his elbows.

"They have all drunk," Gawen told Jon. "Bucephalus is eating again. That bay will have to wait until we stop moving."

Arthur took the bucket while Aries pulled his sleeves down. He had found a place beside the mast where the boy could see the shore without obstructing the crew. Tomas moved aside to let Jon pass, the pale scar above his brow showing beneath his windblown hair. He left Darys by the after hatch and followed Jon as far as the stern steps. From there Ser Tomas could watch the length of the deck.

Vhalar moved his foot from the step. "My lord."

There was more colour in him than there had been on the voyage from Bloodstone. He had put flesh back over his cheekbones, though the broken tooth still showed when he spoke. His thigh troubled him after sitting; Jon had seen him work the stiffness out before dawn, one hand against the mast, his face turned from the benches.

"The horses?" Vhalar asked.

"Standing. Gawen thinks one dislikes the pitch of the deck."

"It can complain to the sea."

"He has tried that."

Vhalar's mouth moved at one corner. Beyond him, Goro and Denys's first mate stood beside the steersman, watching a small sail ahead. Goro pointed to something Jon could not make out. The mate leaned across him for a better look.

Vhalar pulled another piece of meat apart with his fingers. For a while they watched a fishing boat turn away from their course. Its patched sail had a narrow red border; a boy in the stern bent over a coil of line, paying it out hand over hand.

"You have plenty of men who can carry you across the bay," Vhalar said. "You could have left me counting water casks."

"Would you rather be there?"

"I would rather have something worth doing."

Jon rested his forearms on the rail. Below, Darys stood near the after hatch. Farther forward, a soldier in black helped a rower free the end of a blanket from beneath a chest. The galley had carried those men from Dragonstone as readily as it had carried its old crew.

"Marrec will need escorts if this visit brings the orders he expects," Jon said.

"For the salt?"

"The salt and the armour. Porcelain too."

Vhalar stopped pulling at the meat. "How much porcelain?"

"We have more aboard than the king's gift. Ellyn will be making more while we are away."

"I have taken ships with gold in the master's chest without finding so much as a porcelain bowl. Any we did take, I kept in my own cabin until it sold." He looked towards the after hatch. "All that way from the far east, and you have a woman making it a short sail from the men who will buy it."

"It took her a great deal of work."

Vhalar rubbed a fragment of meat from his thumb. He had seen the crates come aboard; only now, Jon thought, was he considering what might follow them. A captured chest could be sold once. The kilns would still be firing after Marrec had emptied his hold.

"Then give me one of those voyages," Vhalar said. "A long one. I am sick of coming home before the men have settled to their oars."

"When there is a voyage for you, Denys will give you your orders."

Goro called to Vhalar from beside the steersman. The wind had drawn farther round; the yard needed turning. Vhalar listened, looked at the sail and sent two men to help. He waited until the ropes were moving before returning to Jon.

Eight moons in Jon's service had given him plenty of time to make himself useful. The harbours and watering places Jon had demanded were already marked upon Denys's charts. Jon had sat over them with his admiral, reading Vhalar's account of the men who held each anchorage and the merchants who bought their prizes. There was knowledge there that would take another captain years to gather.

Denys had found him easier to employ than to please. He still complained about the officers aboard his old ships, though there were fewer quarrels now that the crews had learnt to work together. He brought the galley home when ordered, even when he thought there was reason to stay at sea. Jon cared more for that than the temper in which he obeyed. So far, Denys had found no cause to remove him.

The waiting was wearing on him. He had stood beside Goro while they were still being towed out of Blackburn, impatient to get the oars in the water, and had scarcely left the deck since. A voyage gave him something to attend to beyond his grievances. Jon doubted that carrying chests and horses would satisfy him for long. He wanted to take ships again, with men looking to him for the order to close.

Jon had read the old cargo accounts too, with their lists of captives and the sums paid for them. He had no intention of giving Vhalar back the freedom to choose whom he preyed upon.

Vhalar pushed the remaining meat back into its cloth. "You keep me close, Lord Jon."

Jon met his eyes. The creak of the steering oar filled the pause.

"I have given you work. Is there a difficulty?"

"No, my lord."

Vhalar looked away first, towards the shore growing out of the haze. He had asked for the three galleys together twice since their repair. Denys had sent the requests up with his own answer written beneath. Jon had agreed with it both times.

"Rolo has not stopped sailing because we have," Vhalar said.

"Have you news of him?"

"Nothing your admiral has not heard."

"Then bring me news when you have it."

"You said we would go back."

"We will. I have not named the day."

A gust lifted the loose end of Vhalar's belt cloth. He caught it and tucked it away with unnecessary care. Down the galley, Goro was making a man shift his feet so that another could pass with a bucket. Vhalar watched him, saying nothing.

"Goro has kept his crew together," Jon said.

"What remains of it."

"And taught the men put beside them."

Vhalar watched a pair of rowers adjust their bench cushion. One was a dark-bearded man from his old company; the other still wore his hair bound in the northern fashion.

"They learn," he admitted. "Once they stop telling us what they did on the last ship."

Jon let him have that. More than two dozen ships answered to him now, ten of them gained from pirates. Qavo's two galleons were not yet at sea. He had left Fair Wind behind before Bloodstone for want of a fighting crew; Denys would need more sailors before Jon gave him another handful of captured hulls.

Still, a few galleys sent hunting through the Stepstones could earn their keep. Vhalar knew those waters and the men who preyed upon them. Taken cargoes could pay for the voyages, and sound prizes would enlarge the fleet. Freed captives who wished it could come to Dragonstone. The pirates themselves could break stone for his roads.

Jon wanted marines of his own, a body of men who stayed with the fleet and learnt to fight aboard ships and storm a defended landing. Goro could teach them their work at sea. Men from the legion could sail beside them in turns, under their own officers, and carry what they learnt back to their centuries.

He would have to begin with few enough ships that Denys could still protect the island and escort Marrec's cargoes. Even a victory would take men from the hunting squadron: someone had to sail each prize home, guard its prisoners and keep a damaged hull afloat. Those men would need wages whether they found plunder or spent a moon chasing empty water.

And Vhalar would want Rolo. Give him ships and he would soon argue that settling his own quarrel served Jon's purpose. Denys would choose the crews and give the orders. Vhalar could earn a wider command by bringing back what he was sent for. Jon meant to build a navy he could use for years; he could afford to see how the man handled a few voyages first.

The near bank was clearer now, low ground above the water with cattle grazing behind a fence. Farther upriver, masts crowded the grey sky.

"Your father took a fleet into a king's war," Jon said. "He cannot have expected every captain to like his neighbour."

"My father expected men to do as he said."

"Did they?"

Vhalar turned his head. Jon thought for a moment he would refuse the question.

"While he could pay them. While he could win." He rubbed a thumb over an old scar on his forearm. "When the warehouses were taken, there were fewer men who remembered what he had done for them."

He had been particular about his own heirs when Ethan read out the grant. The house, orchard and two fields had been his since the first days after Bloodstone; his lawful children would hold them after him. Jon had given him the security his father had lost. What Vhalar wanted now was a chance to enlarge it.

Jon straightened from the rail.

"I may have something for you after this trip," he said. "A plan I mean to speak to Denys about."

Vhalar's fingers stopped upon the scar. "What sort of plan?"

"We will speak of it when we return."

Vhalar studied him, then glanced towards Goro. Before he could ask more, the captain called him to look at the traffic upriver. This time he went without another word.

Jon followed. Beyond the merchant ships, roofs climbed the hills in uneven brown and russet rows. The Red Keep stood above them on its river cliff, its pale red towers clear of the smoke trailing from the houses below. Yellow banners pulled from the battlements. Lower down, warehouse roofs hid the feet of the city walls; between the masts Jon could make out the dark mouths of their doors and men waiting with carts.

A broad merchantman was being towed across the reach ahead, moving slowly enough to seem still until he saw the strain on the towrope.

"We can pass astern," Goro said.

Vhalar watched the boat towing her. "Not with that line. Hold off."

The steersman eased them round. A moment later the towboat lost ground; the rope went slack, and the merchantman's stern swung into the water they would have crossed. Goro called for the oars again.

Vhalar did not look back to see whether Jon had noticed.

Jon left him to bring the galley in. By the mast, Arthur had pointed out the river gate to Aries. The boy was looking into the streets beyond it when Jon joined them.

"Will we see Rilla while we're here?" Aries asked.

Jon followed his gaze. Somewhere beyond those roofs was the cookshop, and the neighbour's room where a frightened boy had hidden with a hand too swollen to hold his food. That hand would have healed by now, well or badly. Aries had not forgotten Rilla's account of him, or the letters they had sent.

"I'll have Arryn bring the men he sent to her," Jon said. "We'll hear what became of the children and what has been done for them. Then we can go and see."

"Rilla too."

"Rilla too." Jon rested a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me when they give their account. You'll want to ask them yourself."

Aries nodded. A sailor called for room beside the mast; Arthur drew the boy back with him, and Jon went aft to fetch his cloak.

* * *

Aurane found him beneath the after shelter while they waited for space at the quays. Through its open side Jon could see a coaster unloading horses at the berth they had been promised. A blue chest bearing the crossed black warhammers of House Rykker hung from her hoist; below it, two men were trying to make a groom move his horse out of the way. The groom would not move until someone found its missing bridle. Goro had already sent a boat ashore to speak to the quay master.

Beyond the coaster, a lord's baggage covered most of the next landing: rolled carpets, tent poles bound in bundles, a dismantled bed with its carved posts wrapped in sacking. A bedpost caught one of the onion sacks stacked in their way. Onions rolled beneath the porters' feet, and the owner caught a man by the sleeve, demanding payment. Another ship was trying to discharge passengers into boats because there was nowhere left to put her alongside. Women held their skirts above the bilgewater; a mailed man sat with a small child on his knees while his sword belt rested across his shoulder.

Farther upriver the banks were bright with canvas. Jon could make out the larger pavilions above the smaller tents, and pennons moving where the water opened a view between the ships. The tournament grounds lay beyond the city walls. Even from here he could see carts filing towards them. He had brought a few chests to put before the king; half the realm seemed to have brought its household.

He had unwrapped Ellyn's cup while they waited. A small dark mark beside the handle had worried him until he rubbed it away with his thumb.

"May I?"

Jon handed it over. Aurane held it towards the daylight, turning it until his fingers showed faintly through the thin white wall.

"I still cannot believe you know how to make porcelain. I'm surprised some angry lord in the east hasn't sent an assassin after you." He studied the painted edge. "Where did you say you learnt it?"

"I never told you."

Aurane smiled. "No. You did not."

He asked easily, as he had asked after the ships and the men Jon intended to hire. Monford would be interested in this cup. Jon could almost hear the questions Monford would put to Aurane: how many kilns, how many workmen, how much was already promised elsewhere.

Aurane had also spent half the morning below with Eddison, who had been ashamed of being sick where the sailors could see him. Jon had heard laughter coming from the horse stalls before either emerged.

"Will your brother come to the showing?" Jon asked.

"Once he learns what you have brought." Aurane tilted the cup again. "He may pretend that he came to ask about the ships."

"Bring him. I would like to see his face when he sees these."

Aurane looked at him over the rim, then smiled and gave the cup back. "So would I."

Outside, a boatman shouted for someone to catch a line. The galley moved gently beneath them. Jon folded the cloth round the cup; Aurane caught one corner before it slipped into a puddle left by the last shower.

"Loras will be waiting to fight you," he said. "If Robb does not get there first."

"You seem very certain I shall have time for everyone."

"I intend to put my own name in early. You promised me a turn with the lances."

"I said when there was time."

"And here we are, with a whole tournament arranged to help you find it."

Jon laughed and passed him the wrapped cup while he fastened his cloak. Goro called from the stern that they were going in. Aurane rose with the bundle tucked beneath one arm and ducked under the low beam.

Behind him, a sailor was tying the cover over Tommen's gift. The wooden horse stood upon four broad wheels, its back low enough for a child to sit astride and push himself along with his feet. It was much larger than the little pull-along toy Aries had bought on their last visit. One painted ear showed through the cloth.

Jon tucked the ear safely beneath the covering. His son had broken one on the horse he had carved for him, years before this life. He remembered the child bringing it to him in both hands, certain that he could mend it. For a moment the noise of the quay seemed very far away.

"My lord?" the sailor asked.

"Keep it clear of the heavier chests." Jon stepped back. "It goes to the castle with Perrin."

Munin rattled the wicker beside his boot. Jon lifted the cover far enough to see her peering through the basket, Hugin's white wing feathers showing behind her. The other three crows stirred as he lowered it. He called a household man over to carry them ashore.

Aurane called back from beyond the shelter. "Come. Your men will want to see where their lord has gone."

* * *

Robb was standing on a bollard.

Jon saw him above the men waiting on the quay, red hair uncovered, one hand raised. Theon stood below him in a dark green doublet with a silver gull at the shoulder. He caught Robb's boot as the galley drew alongside and said something that made him kick out without looking down.

Jon waved. Robb jumped off the bollard before the first line had been made fast.

"Wait for the plank," Alasdair said behind him.

"I am waiting."

"On this side of the rail, my lord."

Jon stepped back, grinning despite himself. Beyond the waiting northerners, porters were carrying sacks beneath a warehouse hoist. Fishwives called their prices from baskets along the wall, competing with a herald proclaiming the king's tournament. The wind lifted the Manderly banner above Martyn's head and brought Jon a familiar glimpse of the direwolf beside it.

Tomas crossed first. Jon followed him down the plank and was scarcely ashore before Robb caught him hard enough to drive the breath from his chest.

For a moment he could see nothing but the wool at his brother's shoulder. He put both arms round him and felt Robb's grip tighten. There was more of him than there had been at Gulltown. He smelled of horse, clean linen and the leather dressing they used at Winterfell.

Jon had imagined this often enough to think he knew what he would say. He laughed instead, still short of breath, and Robb laughed against his ear.

"You took your time."

"We came when I said we would."

"He has been here since dawn," Theon said. "An hour ago he tried to claim a cargo of onions."

"It had a black sail."

"It had a filthy sail." Theon took Jon's hand and pulled him into an embrace of his own. His silver gull pressed against Jon's chest.

"Still wearing your winnings?" Jon asked when they parted.

"Someone must remind you that you did not win everything at Runestone."

Robb had caught sight of Jon's palm. He turned the hand over, his thumb stopping short of the pale scar.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Father wanted a proper answer."

Jon closed his fingers round Robb's hand and squeezed. Robb returned the pressure, watching his face, then nodded.

"Good. I want no excuses when we fight."

"You had better have learnt to keep your feet."

"I have." Robb's grin returned. "Ser Rodrik has spent long enough knocking me off them."

"He asked for extra lessons," Theon confided. "I was quite concerned."

Jon looked at his brother again. The shoulders filling that new doublet had come from work. He remembered Robb rushing to catch him in the yard, still fastening his sword belt, certain he could win if they had one more bout. They had both changed since then. He was glad that part had survived.

The old gloves were tucked through Robb's belt. Jon recognised the cut beneath the right thumb, now neatly stitched with lighter thread.

"You have those still."

"They fit me now."

"They were mine."

Robb pushed them farther under his belt before Jon could reach for them. "You told me to keep them. You can afford another pair."

Jon let his hand fall, smiling. He had last seen those gloves raised from the deck of the ship carrying Robb away.

"You will have him to yourself soon enough," Wylis Manderly called. "Let the rest of us greet him."

The heir to White Harbor came forward with his daughters and Wendel. Sea-green wool stretched across his broad chest, and a silver merman fastened his cloak. Jon clasped his hand, then Wendel's. Wylla scarcely waited for their courtesies before taking his hand herself.

"You have grown," she said. Her eyes went from his shoulders to his face. "And handsome, too. You might have warned us."

Jon laughed, caught off guard. The wind had blown his white forelock across his eyes; he pushed it back and bowed over her hand. "It is good to see you, Lady Wylla."

Wynafryd's greeting was quieter. She held his gaze as she offered her hand, then glanced down with a small smile when he took it. He remembered dancing with the sisters at Winterfell, when all of them had needed reminding where to stand. Wylla was already asking whether Aries had come. Wynafryd stayed beside Jon until Domeric Bolton stepped forward.

"Robb's letter caught me before I left the Redfort," Domeric said, offering his hand.

Jon took it. "Then I owe him thanks."

The Redfort. Domeric going home.

Ramsay.

For a moment Jon scarcely heard the noise around them. He had forgotten. In the history he remembered, Domeric had returned from his fostering, sought out his bastard brother and died. He had known this boy at Winterfell, laughed with him at Runestone, and let that knowledge slip from his mind.

Robb's invitation had brought him here instead. A letter asking a friend to join them at a tourney might have saved his life.

"I shall go north with you afterwards," Domeric was saying to Robb. "Lord Redfort has given me leave."

There would still be a homecoming. Jon would have to speak to him before he left Winterfell for the Dreadfort. He could not let relief make him forget again.

And there was Jon Arryn. A season, perhaps a little longer, if events kept anything like their old course. Jon had spent so much time changing what stood before him that he had neglected dangers he already knew. He needed to think through the smaller events as carefully as the wars that followed them, while he could still remember which had led to which.

Domeric turned back to him. "Harry is coming too. Waymar Royce and Mychel Redfort as well. You will have company from Runestone."

"Harry the Heir?" Theon asked. "Has he brought enough gold?"

Jon remembered the dragon they had wagered by the fire. "He may prefer to keep it this time."

"He may prefer to win it back," Domeric said. "Mychel means to separate you and Robb in the melee. He told me to warn you."

Robb looked pleased at the prospect. "He can try."

Behind them Gawen was leading Bucephalus down the gangplank, with Aries and Bracken following. Wylla went to greet the boy. Martyn called for the other horses, and Wylis turned to Jon before they mounted.

"My father sends his greetings. He has buyers here, and would like some of your salt to reach White Harbor before everyone else has bought it."

"Have them speak to Perrin. We are arranging a showing."

"You will see us there."

Theon had wandered a few steps away to watch Vhalar speaking to Goro above the galley's stern. Robb followed his gaze.

"That is him?"

"Vhalar. The man beside him is Goro."

"And he brought you here?"

"Aye."

Robb looked along the galley, from the rowers at their benches to the men in black beside the hatch. "On his own ship."

"My ship," Jon said.

Vhalar glanced towards them. He inclined his head to Jon, then turned back to Goro. Robb watched him a moment longer before speaking.

"They were still talking about it in White Harbor," Robb said. "One captain swore there were three thousand pirates."

"The tale has grown."

"He made Rolo sound like a giant. Is he?"

"Shorter than I expected. Broad, though. Red hair and an axe. He laughed while he fought."

Robb looked at him. "Did you fight him?"

"Gerralt did. His shield strap had broken. The household got between them before Rolo could finish him." Jon could still see Gerralt trying to hold the loose shield between himself and the axe. "Norren sent the spearmen round a side passage. When they struck, we drove him back."

"I wish I could have seen that." Robb glanced towards the men still aboard, then back at Jon. "But he came after you again?"

"All the way to the boats. We had wounded men to carry. Every time we stopped to lift one, he was there."

Theon had stopped watching the ship. "How close did he come?"

"Gerralt had another shield by then. Rolo split it with his axe. We dragged a door across the passage while the last men got aboard Aurane's boat." Jon looked down at the water washing against the quay. "I heard it fall. Rolo came through with the axe in his hand, but the oars had caught. Another moment and he would have been in the boat with us."

Robb's mouth had opened. He shut it without asking his next question.

"Aurane kept the boat there for you?" Theon asked.

"Until the last man was aboard."

Robb looked past Jon to the galley, where Aurane was coming down from the afterdeck. Then his eyes returned to his brother's face.

"You might have written more about that."

"I meant to tell you when I saw you."

"It has been eight moons."

Jon looked at him. "I know."

For a while they stood beside one another as the sailors worked. A coil of rope dropped onto the quay beside them. Robb stepped out of the way without looking round.

"I should have been there with you."

Jon remembered looking for Fergus among the shields. He put a hand on Robb's shoulder. "I'm glad you weren't."

Robb looked ready to argue, but Perrin was calling from beside the carts. Jon sent Darys over to guard the wares being taken into the city. His brother watched the pale-haired islander lead two men away.

"Is that the lad you wrote of?"

"Darys. He took Fergus's place in the household."

Robb nodded slowly. "I kept looking for Fergus when you came ashore."

Jon's hand fell from his shoulder. He had caught himself doing the same, long after they had reached Dragonstone. Robb touched his arm, then went to greet Gawen.

When the horses were ready, Jon found Robb waiting beside Bucephalus.

"Ride with me," he said.

"Where else did you think I was going?"

* * *

The tournament had spread far beyond its grounds.

Pavilions crowded the riverbank outside the walls, their bright roofs rising above rows of smaller tents. A bronze Royce banner snapped over one enclosure; beyond it Jon saw Redfort's red castle and the golden roses of Highgarden. Carpenters were still at work on the stands. Through a gap in the canvas, two riders passed with blunted lances, watched by a line of men who had found time to stop unloading a wagon.

Robb slowed to look. "Do you see how far back they have put the seats?"

"You will have to fall handsomely," Theon said. "Or they may miss it."

"I was thinking of where to sit for the archery. Somewhere I can call advice."

Theon made an obscene suggestion about his advice. Wendel laughed; Wylis looked back towards his daughters, and Theon discovered something of interest beyond the river.

They rode beneath the River Gate with the direwolf and merman swaying above them beside Jon's black banner. A goldcloak struck the paving with the butt of his spear, calling for room. Beyond the arch, the street seemed impossibly full. Carts stood wheel to wheel; pedestrians squeezed between their shafts. A woman carrying bread upon her head turned sideways to pass Bucephalus, close enough for Jon to smell the warm loaves.

Robb looked up at houses leaning over the street, their upper storeys almost touching. Washing hung between them beneath a crimson banner bearing a golden lion. Farther along, a silver eagle marked a Mallister lodging; the Darry ploughman hung above a winesink whose benches had overflowed into the road.

"Is it always like this?" Robb asked.

"Worse for the tourney," Jon said. "But crowded enough without it."

"I thought White Harbor was crowded." Robb drew his knee in as a man squeezed past his horse. He looked down the next lane, then up at the people leaning from its windows.

Theon had turned to look too. "How do you ever find anyone?"

Before Jon could answer, a goldcloak's shout rose above the noise. Three men in rose-embroidered cloaks were arguing with him over a litter that could go neither forward nor back.

"How do they get through?" Wylla asked.

"They shout," Wendel said.

"That does not seem to be helping."

One of the litter bearers put his end down. The lady inside pushed the curtain aside and began shouting too.

Wendel gave Wylla a solemn nod. She laughed, and Wynafryd covered a smile with her glove.

They passed a cookshop with chickens turning above a bed of coals. Robb drew a deep breath, then turned his face away as a gust reached them from the gutter.

"Gods, that's foul."

"I could smell it from the harbour," Theon said, holding his sleeve beneath his nose. "I did not think it could get worse."

Wylla had hidden her face in her cloak. Wendel urged his horse past the drain, and the others followed as fast as the carts allowed. The stink clung to them even outside the bowyer's stall, where fresh wood shavings lay about a man's feet. Robb was still wrinkling his nose when a painted shield caught his eye. Beneath the armourers' signs, squires argued over prices and men hammered dents from their masters' chestplates.

A boy came out of an armourer's shop with a bundle of new lances, their painted shafts held awkwardly above the crowd. Robb turned in the saddle to watch him go.

"We should come back after we have found our rooms. I want to see who is practising."

Wynafryd drew her palfrey alongside Jon's. She asked which of the contests he meant to enter, and listened with a smile while Robb supplied his own intentions for the melee. Theon tried to join them, but a fish cart pushed between the horses. He had to draw back from its dripping baskets and wait for a gap.

Arthur was recognised outside an inn. A man rose with a cup still in his hand, calling his name; two boys climbed onto a barrel to see him. The recognition travelled ahead of them. Jon heard the Sword of the Morning named again, then Lord Black, and a question about the pirates. A woman came to her window with a baby against her shoulder. Robb turned when someone called Winterfell.

"Do they always do that?" he asked quietly.

"When they know who is passing."

Robb raised a hand. The man who had shouted waved back with both arms, grinning beneath a dirty wool cap. He began telling the people beside him something Jon could not hear.

The north was a long way away. For that man, a direwolf passing his door had been enough.

Near the fountain, a herald was reading the order of the contests. The nameday feast would be held on the morrow; the lists would open the day after. Theon drew rein to hear the archery announced, and Jon took the opportunity to call Gawen beside him.

"Have a look at the men seeking service while we are here. Hugh needs riders who can teach."

Gawen's eyes went to a knight waiting beside the herald. The man's chestplate was well kept, though the surcoat over it had been patched beneath one arm. His bedroll lay behind his saddle.

"There will be plenty looking."

"Find out where they served. I would rather hear from a man who rode with them than buy a good story."

"Vaelor will want to see them on a horse."

"So will I."

Tomas, riding close enough to hear, glanced back at the knight. He said nothing then, but Jon saw him look again before they moved on.

As they climbed out of the busiest streets, Robb began telling him about White Harbor and the journey from Winterfell. He had ridden part of the way with men whose fathers had served Ned for years without Robb knowing much more than their names. Now he could tell Jon which held land on a road he hoped to travel, and which had invited him to hunt.

"The Hornwood first, if Father gives me leave. I want to see the other houses properly. Hear what they have to say before I am expected to know the answer."

"And what does Father think?"

"That I should know more before I set off." Robb smiled ruefully. "Luwin agrees. They have found a great many books between them."

"He takes them away with him now," Theon said. "I have had to fetch him from the library."

"You can survive an afternoon without me."

"You said you would be an hour."

Jon listened as they argued. His brother was beginning to carry himself like a lord. He regretted how much of the change he had learnt through letters.

"Tonight, show me where you mean to go," he said.

"You will be busy."

"Then I will finish."

Robb looked at him before smiling. "I have brought the map."

Of course he had. Jon nudged his boot with his own as Wylis called them towards a turning.

The Manderly house stood behind a high wall on a quieter street. Its gates were open, a stone merman above them with water stains beneath his beard. Within lay a paved court, a stable and a pale front with shuttered windows. A lemon tree stood in a great pot beside the steps. Servants came down before Wylis had dismounted; one greeted him by name, while another took Wendel's reins without waiting to be told where he should stand.

"You are staying here?" Robb asked.

"We are," Wylis said. "You have the king's hospitality to endure."

"Is this your father's house?"

"It is. His men use it when their business keeps them here." He accepted a folded letter from the servant and glanced at the seal. "As you see, they have not waited for us to unpack."

Wynafryd was looking up at the windows. Wylla had already asked which rooms were theirs, whether the garden lay behind the house and whether Aries could come to see it. She asked the last question of Jon rather than her father.

"When we have leave to spare him," Jon said.

"I would like to," Aries said at once.

"Then we shall arrange it." Wylis touched his daughter's shoulder and turned her towards the steps. "After you have washed."

Wendel remained by the gate to finish speaking to Arthur. Two men in Redwyne colours were being shown into the court behind him. One knew Wylis well enough to complain about being kept waiting; Wylis replied that he should have come to White Harbor if he wanted to be certain of finding him.

Jon watched their greeting. The Manderlys had beds, servants and acquaintances here, business continuing whether a Stark came south or not. Their loyalty had not required them to shut their gates to the rest of the realm.

Winterfell relied upon them too readily. Wyman need not betray Ned to know things Ned never heard, or choose which opportunities reached him. When Jon ruled, he would have captains and merchants who answered directly to him. His own people would know the roads as well as the men offering to guide them.

Wylis came back to the gate. "My father asked me to bring you both to supper while we are here. Choose an evening before everyone else takes them."

Robb looked at Jon.

"After we know the order of the lists," Jon said. "I would like that."

They took their leave with Wylla still calling questions from the steps. At the corner, Aurane raised a hand to a party coming downhill.

Monford Velaryon drew his grey horse to a walk. The silver seahorse at his shoulder gleamed against sea-green silk. Lord Ardrian Celtigar rode beside him, with Ser Corwyn a little way behind; beyond them Jon recognised Guncer Sunglass and Ser Elyas. Lady Mylenda Bar Emmon had chosen a litter. Her son's young face appeared at its window when the horses stopped.

"Lord Black." Monford bowed from the saddle. "We heard your ship had come in."

"You have good ears."

"I have men upon the quays." His eyes moved to Aurane. "Though not the one I expected."

"I thought you might have a welcome for me before a complaint," Aurane said.

"I have had eight moons to prepare both."

Jon introduced Robb, then Theon and Domeric. Ardrian made much of Ned's sons being together, while Lady Mylenda asked whether the crossing had been rough. Her son was more interested in Gawen's sword until Ser Garon bent to speak to him through the window.

"Ser Garon," Jon said when the knight straightened. "It is good to see you."

Garon bowed. "And you, my lord."

Jon greeted Elyas and Corwyn as well. Robb looked from one to the other, recognising names from the account his father had read. The men noticed it. Corwyn sat a little straighter when Robb asked if he had commanded one of the captured ships on the way home.

"One of the first taken," Corwyn answered. "She needed more men than we had to spare."

"They brought her home sound," Jon said.

Corwyn met his eyes, then inclined his head.

"I hope your new ships will be as sound," Monford said. "My brother has been sparing with particulars."

"Qavo has work enough without visitors arguing over it. You may see them when they are ready."

"While they are building, my captains could carry your goods."

"Marrec will hear their terms."

Ardrian leaned forward in his saddle. "And this salt people are speaking of? White as sugar, they say."

"Made at Saltcliffe," Jon said.

"I have paid a great deal for salt that still left grit between my teeth."

"You will find none in this. Nor the bitter taste. Try it tomorrow."

Ardrian studied him, plainly weighing the claim. Lady Mylenda wanted to know if the rumours about white cups were true. Aurane answered that she should see one held to the light, earning a look from his brother.

"Perrin is arranging a showing," Jon told them. "You will all have invitations. We present the king's gifts tomorrow."

"Your own bannermen ought to have the first offer," Monford said.

"They may make their offers with everyone else."

For a moment no one spoke. Monford adjusted the reins between his fingers.

"As you wish, my lord."

Jon nodded. Beside Monford, Ardrian was studying the men of the household. He had sent a nephew to war and received him back with gold and a lord's commendation; even that had not made Jon welcome upon the seat Robert had given him.

They still saw Ned Stark's son. Monford's forebears had served dragons, and he resented serving the child of the man who had helped overthrow them. Jon understood the loyalty beneath that resentment. One day he meant to reward it. Until he could give them his true name, they would have to obey the one they knew. He would not let their pride obstruct the work while he waited.

Aurane brought his horse alongside. "I had better go with them. He will only find me later."

"You make it sound very burdensome."

"You are not the younger brother." Aurane glanced towards Robb, then thought better of whatever he had meant to add. "I will find you before the feast. We still owe one another a turn with the lances."

"You will have to get past Robb first."

"Gladly." Aurane grinned at Robb. Robb looked him up and down, then grinned back.

Jon watched Aurane join his brother. There would be questions once they were alone. Aurane had learnt to make his own sound like idle curiosity; Jon liked him too well to resent every one. Friendship did not make Monford's purpose less plain. Nor did it prevent Jon from having a purpose of his own for the man his brother had sent him.

The island party passed downhill. Jon turned Bucephalus towards the castle, with Robb riding close beside him again.

* * *

The bronze gates stood open beneath the crowned stag. From the approach, the Red Keep's towers had seemed apart from the city; inside, Jon found the same press of horses and people, better dressed and more determined to be served first.

Lannister guards waited beneath the stable arch while a train of mules was led out. Buckler's bronze buckles hung above a rack of shields; a page in Tyrell green ran between two men carrying a rolled carpet. Beyond the open colonnade, Jon glimpsed the practice yard and the flash of a blade. Robb turned towards the sound at once.

"Later," Jon said.

"I was only looking."

Barristan Selmy stood at the foot of the steps in his white cloak. He came forward when Arthur dismounted, and clasped his arm as he had on their first visit. Then he turned to Jon.

"Lord Black. Lord Arryn asks that you attend him when you have come in."

"I will go to him now, ser."

"He said you would." Barristan's eyes passed over his face and stopped briefly upon the white lock. "I am glad to see you well."

Arthur introduced Robb. Barristan's expression softened when he heard the name.

"The king will be pleased. He has been asking when you would reach us."

Robb bowed. "I have brought a letter from my father, ser."

"Keep it by you tomorrow. His Grace will want to hear the news from you."

Jon felt Robb look at him. Until this moment, the king had been a man in his father's stories, someone who sent commands and gifts from far away. Tomorrow he would have to speak to him.

"Does he ask many questions?" Robb said when Barristan turned to the servant waiting upon the steps.

"About Father? A great many."

"Theon says he remembers everything."

Theon had been unfastening his glove. He pulled at the fingers one by one before replying.

"I said he remembered what he wanted."

Jon looked at him. The last time Theon had stood before Robert, Pyke had burned and his brothers were dead. It was a different memory of the king from the one Ned had given his sons.

"You will not have to stand there alone," Jon told Robb.

"I know." Robb tucked the letter farther into his doublet. "I would still rather have met him before half the realm arrived."

The servant led them beneath the colonnade. Rooms had been set aside for Ned Stark's sons, overlooking an inner court, with space nearby for their guards. Other lords were lodging in the city, Barristan told them, but the king had been particular about this.

Robb went with Theon, Domeric and the northern men to see them. Jon sent his own household after them, leaving Tomas to settle the watch and Perrin to find a secure room for the gifts. Gawen took charge of the horses. Aries stayed with Jon and Arthur.

"For the children?" he asked.

"For the children," Jon said. "You may have to wait outside for part of it."

"I can wait."

He had waited long enough. Jon put a hand between his shoulders and guided him towards the stair.

* * *

Jon Arryn rose from his writing table when they entered. A clerk gathered the papers spread before him, leaving a patch of bare wood between the inkstand and a dish of untouched pears.

"My lord." Jon bowed. Arthur did the same beside him.

"Come and sit. You have had a long morning." Arryn waited for the clerk to leave, then took the chair opposite them. "How is your father?"

"Well, from his letters. Robb has brought one for the king."

"Then Robert may leave me in peace about it." He smiled, briefly, and asked after Ethan. There was nothing strange in his voice or his movements. His hands were steady as he poured water into a cup.

Jon accepted it and made himself stop looking for signs of a death that had not happened. There were things to learn before he could prevent it, and staring at Arryn's breakfast would teach him none of them.

The Hand laid out a familiar letter. Jon recognised Ethan's writing above his own signature.

"I have your accounts. The king was pleased with the ships, and with the end you made of those raiders." His finger rested beside the losses. "Your father was less pleased to learn how close you came to remaining with them."

"So he told me."

"He was not alone." Arryn looked to Arthur.

"We knew when we had to withdraw," Arthur said. "We had boats waiting and men to hold the way to them. It would have cost us more to stay."

"Yet this Rolo remains."

"He does," Jon said. "Denys receives word of him when there is word to be had."

Arryn set the letter down. "Are you preparing to go back?"

"Not now. I have men in training and ships needing crews. I will not take them out because Rolo wishes me to."

"Good." The Hand's expression did not invite an argument. "A pirate can abandon a harbour. You have people who cannot abandon their homes."

Jon took a drink. Arryn asked about the bereaved families, the wounded men still unable to work, and the division of the captured ships. Jon answered plainly. Arthur supplied the condition of a household man whom Jon had last seen walking with a stick.

"And Vhalar?" Arryn asked.

"Brought us here."

The Hand paused. "Did he?"

"Under Denys's orders, with our men aboard. He has served for eight moons. Denys sends me his reports."

"He has been given land."

"A holding, not command of the island. His men have been divided, and he cannot take a ship out upon his own authority."

"I asked because Lord Celtigar still finds it remarkable."

"He was invited to come. Ser Corwyn can tell him what happened."

Arryn regarded him for a moment. "Corwyn's account was rather more useful than his uncle's letter."

"Then you have what you need."

Arthur shifted his cup between his hands. Jon saw the movement, but his uncle said nothing. Arryn folded the letter along its old crease.

"You must judge the man's service. I would have you remember how much your neighbours have lost to men like him."

"I remember what I lost to them."

The words came harder than he intended. Arryn glanced at the scar upon his hand, then back at him.

"Very well." He put the pirate account aside. "Tell me about the people you are bringing from Lys."

Jon had expected the question. He set down his cup.

"What have you heard?"

"That ships are unloading slaves at Blackburn. That you are buying more. Your report says you have settled families, but merchants do not trouble themselves with the distinction when they repeat the tale."

"They are freed before they begin work. They are paid, they marry as they please, and their children belong to no one."

"Do they owe you their purchase price?"

"No."

"Can they leave?"

"Yes. Some have kin elsewhere. Those who wish to stay are given work and somewhere to live."

Arryn leaned back. "Put those answers in the next account. As plainly as you have given them to me."

"I will. One of the Most Devout has written to me about them as well. He commends the freeing of the slaves, and the homes and work we have given them. He wishes to speak with me while I am here."

"Then tell him what you have told me," Arryn said. "And why so many Valyrians?"

"Have you been to the villages, my lord?"

"Not for many years."

"Then you will remember their faces. Half the people calling these newcomers foreigners would mistake them for islanders if they did not hear them speak." Jon drew Ethan's fuller account from his doublet. "The captains find families who can settle together, and craftsmen who can teach the work. We have people who speak their tongues. That matters when a man is trying to explain that he has a wife still held in another city."

"And when your foremen need to make themselves understood."

"We have schoolmasters teaching the Common Tongue. The children learn it faster." He gave Arryn the account. "There are three thousand two hundred freed people now, counting the children. Two hundred and eighty-seven northerners have come as well. Most of those brought skills we needed, or kin willing to take up land."

Arryn read the totals twice. "That is a great many mouths for Dragonstone."

"Which is why you will find more grain ships in the harbour."

"Even after your harvest?"

"Even after it. The new fields will help, but I cannot feed people on what I hope to grow next year."

Arthur nodded when Arryn looked at him. "I have seen the houses. They are building more. There is work for the people Jon brings."

"I do not doubt the work. I am asking whether he can continue to pay for it."

"I can," Jon said. "And I mean to leave here with buyers for what they are making."

He told Arryn about the salt, the steel and Ellyn's cups. The Hand had heard of all three, but sat forward when Jon described how much they could sell without starving the island's own works. When Jon mentioned the royal gifts, his gaze went to the armour Arthur wore.

"For Robert?"

"A suit made for him. Perrin has brought it ashore. The armourer will see to any fitting it needs."

"You may find that the larger task."

Arthur smiled into his cup. Jon allowed himself a smile too.

"There is a gift for Prince Tommen as well. A wooden horse he can ride."

"You will please his father if it keeps him from asking for another pony." Arryn called the clerk back and gave instructions for the showing on the morrow. Jon waited until the door had closed again.

"There is another account I asked for, my lord. More than once."

Arryn's expression changed. "The children."

"Aries is waiting outside."

The Hand rang for his servant.

Aries entered carefully, as if the sound of his boots might disturb something. Jon drew a chair close to his own. A little later an older man in Arryn's colours came in carrying a thin packet tied with string. Arthur recognised him and gave him a nod.

"He was one of the men I sent to Rilla," Arryn explained. "The boy was taken to safety before they went to the cellar."

Aries gripped the edge of the chair. "Is his hand better?"

The man looked to Arryn, received permission to speak, and turned to the boy.

"Better than it was. Two fingers are stiff. He can use them, but he cannot close them all the way."

"Was a maester brought?" Jon asked.

"Yes, my lord. The bones had already begun to knit badly." He opened the packet. "The septa says he can hold a cup and dress himself. He is learning his letters with the others."

Aries bent towards the paper, though he was too far away to read it. "He does not have to fight?"

"No."

The man's answer was firm enough that the boy sat back. Jon rested his hand on the arm of Aries's chair.

There had been more children in the cellar than Rilla knew. Two had families nearby, frightened into leaving them with the keeper by debts that grew whenever they tried to pay. Others could give no useful account of where they had come from. One boy's information had led the men to another fighting place, and that to a third.

"Some of the keepers fled," Arryn said. "Others are in custody. The first arrests should have been made more quietly. Word went ahead of the men."

"Through the watch?" Arthur asked.

"That is one of the things still being examined." The Hand's face had grown severe. "I have kept my own men upon it."

"And Rilla?" Jon asked.

"Unharmed. Her nephew knows whom to send for if anyone troubles her. No charge bears her name."

Aries wanted to know where the children slept, whether the older ones still struck the younger ones, and who brought their food. The man answered each question as carefully as he had answered Jon's.

A septa named Meriane had taken charge of them in a house beside a small sept. Arryn had paid for the adjoining rooms when the second group was brought in. There were women to tend the youngest, and an old carpenter had begun taking two of the older boys to his shop. The man had been questioned before either was permitted to go.

"May we see them?" Aries asked.

"You may," Arryn said. "Ser Arthur will arrange it with my men."

"And Rilla," Aries added.

"And Rilla."

Jon asked for the expenses. Arryn's man found them at the back of the packet: rent, food, bedding, the maester's fee. It was a small account beside the cost of one of Jon's ships.

"I offered to pay for their care. You should have sent this."

"You should have had an answer," Arryn said. "I have no defence for that. The inquiry continued, and your letter waited for a full account when a partial one would have served you."

"Perrin will settle what is owed. Send him the costs each moon."

Arryn nodded to his man, who made a note. Jon asked him to wait outside with Aries; the boy could go over the septa's letter with him while the adults finished. Arthur saw them to the door.

The room seemed quieter after he had gone.

"How many of these pits are still running?" Jon asked.

"I cannot give you a number. We close one place and the men who profited by it find another cellar." Arryn looked down at the papers. "The watch can break up a gathering. Finding where the men have gone afterwards has proved harder."

Jon set his cup down too hard. Water ran across the table, soaking the edge of his cuff. Eight moons. Children had been beaten for men's amusement while he waited for a reply. He could still hear Rilla saying that the boy thought they would come for him.

"Then I will look while I am here."

Arryn looked up. "What do you propose?"

"I will speak to Rilla and the children. I want to see the places your men found, and hear what they know of the keepers who escaped."

"They will show you," Arryn said. "But if you find something, bring it to me. I will not have another warning sent ahead by men who think they are helping."

"You will hear of it." Jon drew his wet sleeve clear of the papers. He wanted the men who took the wagers as well as those who kept the cellars. Hugin and Munin could follow a man through streets where a guard in black would be noticed. First he needed someone worth following.

Arthur gave him a searching look. "We shall begin with Rilla."

"And the boy." Jon had promised Aries they would see him. He meant to see for himself where the children slept, who cared for them, whether they still feared a knock upon the door.

Arryn passed him a cloth. "Some have no one looking for them. Others have parents who cannot feed them. More arrive every day, hoping there will be work."

Blackburn could employ some of those families. Jon would have Marrec find out who wished to leave, once there were houses and grain enough to receive them. A factor in the city could arrange passage as well as buyers for his wares. He would need rooms and stores near the landing.

That would bring him among merchants with old claims and powerful friends. Petyr's reach through customs and lenders could make a newcomer very uncomfortable. Marrec would learn who owned the ground and who collected its dues before Jon bought anything. He would not let Littlefinger establish him here.

"There may be places on Dragonstone," he told Arryn. "I will have my people speak to yours before we promise anything."

Arryn nodded. Arthur waited until the Hand had set the children's account aside before speaking.

He lowered his voice.

"There is one other matter. The stores beneath the city."

The Hand rose and checked the door himself.

"Ser Barristan told me you would ask." He returned without sitting. "The Guild has removed jars from two of the places named. Some were sound. Some were not fit to be carried far."

Jon felt the old dread tighten beneath his ribs. Above those buried stores, the streets were filling with visitors.

"What of the others?" Arthur asked.

"The search continues. Walls have been built where there were passages, and houses stand over entrances no one remembers using. They will not give me an assurance they cannot support."

"Nor should they," Jon said. "We need to know where they have looked, not only what they have found."

"There is a record. Barristan has it, with the names of the men permitted to see it. Come to him after the feast tomorrow. I will join you."

Arthur agreed. Jon asked whether anything had been found beneath the Dragonpit. Arryn said that the survey there was unfinished; the broken approaches made parts of it unsafe even before they searched below.

Jon remembered how readily men put off a danger they could not see. He would keep this appointment, and he would hear the Guild's account himself before leaving the city.

When they rose, Arryn kept him a moment longer.

"Enjoy some of the king's hospitality, Jon. Your brother has come a long way to see you."

Through the door, Jon heard Aries asking the man to read a sentence again.

"I mean to," he said.

* * *

"Arthur."

The voice came from below. Arthur stopped with his hand upon the rail, and Jon, a step behind him, looked down into the light from the narrow window.

A tall, spare man stood on the landing. His pale red cloak had fallen back from a shirt of overlapping copper discs; silver showed among the black hair above his temples. He had a long, sharp face, and was smiling as though he had caught Arthur at something. Beside him, a broad-shouldered woman in riding leathers moved out of the path of a servant. Her brown hair was knotted behind her head. One callused hand rested upon the whip at her belt.

"Oberyn."

Arthur went down the remaining steps. The man caught him by both shoulders, looked at him for a moment, then pulled him into an embrace.

"You might have written."

"So might you."

"Then we shall drink to our failings. Yours first." Oberyn drew back, his hand lingering upon Arthur's shoulder. "It is good to see you."

Arthur laughed. Jon had heard that laugh seldom enough to recognise the change in him.

The Red Viper. Jon had expected to see him among the guests, with time to decide how he would approach him. Now the prince was looking past Arthur, and Jon came down the last steps to meet him.

"My nephew, Jon Black," Arthur said. "Jon, Prince Oberyn Martell."

Jon bowed. "My prince."

Oberyn returned the courtesy. His dark eyes lingered on Jon's face. "They have been making you older every time they tell the tale."

"Does that improve it?"

"It makes the pirates look better." His smile widened. "My daughter, Obara."

Obara clasped his hand, then looked from his sword to Arthur.

"The men at the quay said a pirate brought you here," she said. "The one you took in the Stepstones."

"Vhalar."

"What did he make of you?" Her eyes travelled from Jon's face to Arthur. "Did he know who was giving the orders?"

"He looked past me to my uncle. Arthur stayed where he was."

"I should have liked to see his face." Obara's mouth curved. "Did he beg?"

"He asked me to name his ransom, then told me I had lost too many men taking his fort. I reminded him he had been unable to keep it."

Obara laughed. Oberyn was still studying Jon. "Arianne will want that story. She is delighted with your clock at Sunspear, though I have cause to regret it."

"Is something wrong with it?"

"It tells her exactly how late I am."

"Was there doubt before?"

"There was room to argue." Oberyn shifted nearer the wall as two pages came down with an empty basket. "I looked inside the king's this morning. The keeper seemed afraid I meant to carry off a wheel."

"Did you?"

"Only in the interest of learning." Arthur made a sound beside him, and Oberyn smiled without turning. "I understood the weight and the wheels. But the bar above them, with a weight at either end—move those farther apart, and it should rock more slowly. Is that how you correct the hour?"

"Yes. The bar works two catches. They let the wheel pass one tooth at a time."

Oberyn held two fingers apart, considering the movement. "Without water to freeze, or sand to turn. I saw nothing like it at the Citadel."

"Nor had Maester Luwin. He helped us test the first."

"And you made it yourself?"

"Woods made the wooden parts, Mikken the iron. I showed them what I wanted. We spoiled enough pieces before it worked."

"Those are the pieces I would like to see." Oberyn lowered his hand.

Jon had almost begun telling him about the first crooked wheel. Six links at the Citadel; he had remembered the spear before the scholar.

"Doran would welcome a visit from its maker," Oberyn said. "And from you, Arthur. He asked me to remind you."

Jon had not forgotten his uncle's uncertainty when they had spoken of Elia, or the men Doran might have sent and had not. There were questions he would one day put to the Prince of Dorne. Oberyn had wanted to fight on after the war. He could hear this brother without forgiving the other.

"Arthur told me of the invitation," he said. "I have not forgotten it."

"I shall tell him so." Oberyn waited, but Jon offered no date. His gaze returned to Jon's face. "Does your uncle speak to you of your mother?"

Arthur's smile faded. Jon felt the familiar danger of a conversation in which every honest feeling rested upon a lie.

"When I ask him. I wish I could remember her."

"You should ask more often." Oberyn looked at Arthur. "There are people in Dorne who would be glad to speak of her."

"I mean to take him, when we can," Arthur said. "How is Doran?"

"His feet trouble him. Some days he cannot bear a shoe." Oberyn's hand fell from the fold of his cloak. "He still insists upon hearing everyone who comes to him."

"I am sorry."

"Write to him. He would welcome it." The prince drew his cloak back over his shoulder. "And spare me an evening while you are here. I have heard a great deal about your nephew. I should like to hear something about you."

Arthur turned to Jon. "Will you need me after supper?"

"Go. I shall be with Robb. Tomas and Gawen are here."

Oberyn looked from one to the other, then laughed. "All this time I have been asking the wrong man." He inclined his head to Jon with exaggerated courtesy. "Next time I shall come straight to you, Lord Black."

"After supper," Arthur said, smiling despite himself. "The gallery above the lower court."

"I shall be there." Oberyn stood aside for them. "And you must show me the king's clock, Lord Jon. I promise to leave the wheels where they belong."

"Find me after the gifts tomorrow."

"I shall."

Obara glanced towards the bright court beyond the arch. Steel rang somewhere below. "Are you fighting in the tourney?"

"In the squires' melee."

"Then we shall watch," Oberyn said. "I have seen what your craftsmen can do. I should like to see what Arthur has taught you."

He went on up the stair with his daughter. Arthur watched them until they turned out of sight.

* * *

Robb had changed before Jon reached their rooms. He wore an old practice doublet and the gloves he had refused to return. Theon lay across a window seat with one boot upon the wall; Domeric was telling him that the servants would be delighted to hear his views on their wine.

"At last," Robb said.

"I said I would come."

"You also said that at Winterfell. Sometimes it meant after dark."

Jon handed his cloak to Aries, then turned back to Robb. "Get your sword."

Robb lifted it from the bed and followed him to the door.

They went down together, Gawen and Tomas following. By the time they reached the practice ground, Jon had heard the first half of an argument about whether Theon had lost a bout fairly that morning. Domeric offered to settle it by fighting him again.

Aron Santagar was watching two squires at work when Arthur called his name. He turned with a smile, then saw how many had followed.

"You have brought your own tournament."

"Only part of it," Arthur said.

Santagar greeted Jon and asked after his hand. When Jon flexed it for him, he nodded towards the weapon rack.

"Blunts there. Keep clear of the far side until they have finished with the spears."

Beyond him a man in Caron colours was disputing a blow with Ser Brus Buckler. Lord Ralph stood nearby, declining to be drawn into it. Balon Swann saw Arthur first and came across with Lucan Marbrand. Jon remembered the young westerman fighting his uncle on their last visit; he had acquired a new scar at the edge of his chin.

Balon asked about the crossing, then the hand. Jon was beginning to think he should have left it ungloved all day.

"Well enough to disappoint Robb," he said.

"We shall see," his brother answered.

Balon stepped back to give them room. "Then I had better stay and watch."

Gawen joined Balon at the rail while Jon followed Robb onto the sand.

They had scarcely chosen weapons before someone called from the rail.

"Domeric! You might have told us you had found them."

Mychel Redfort came through the watching men with Waymar Royce behind him. Harry Hardyng followed more slowly, drawing off his gloves. He had dressed for the court in blue silk; the other two had sand upon their boots. Harry looked at Jon, then at the sword in his hand.

Harry leaned on the rail. "Which of you is winning?"

"We have not begun," Robb said.

Harry greeted Jon while Mychel asked whether they were entering together again in the squires' melee. Domeric told him he had delivered his threat.

"It was a promise," Mychel said. "You two shall not have an empty side of the field this time."

"Then I had better stand between you," Loras Tyrell said.

He had slipped through the gathering before Jon noticed him. Brown curls escaped the tie at his nape, and his rolled sleeves showed arms reddened by the sun. A wooden practice sword rested against his shoulder. He gave Jon's scarred hand a quick glance, then looked at his face.

"Renly said you had arrived. I thought you might come here."

"My brother, Robb. Theon Greyjoy, and Domeric Bolton." Jon made the remaining introductions while Loras shook hands, his eagerness making him move to the next before the first had quite finished speaking.

"You are all entering?" he asked.

"I have not come to watch," Harry said.

"Good. Nor have I."

Jon beckoned Eddison and Aleyx over from the weapon rack. They had been watching the company grow, waiting for a chance to join it.

"Two more for the melee," he told Loras, and gave their names.

Eddison had recovered his colour since leaving the ship. He shook Loras's hand and asked which weapons would be permitted. Aleyx stayed beside Jon while they discussed it, looking round the assembled young men. Before they had done, he had agreed to a bout with Waymar.

"Garlan," Loras called, lifting his sword.

The knight approaching them stood a head taller than his brother, broad through the chest and shoulders. Sweat had darkened the neck of his green practice coat. His brown curls were shorter than Loras's, his beard close trimmed, and two golden roses were worked upon his breast.

"Ser Garlan Tyrell. My brother."

Garlan the Gallant. Jon knew the name; several men along the rail turned to watch him pass. He greeted Jon and Robb courteously, then clasped Balon's hand across the rail.

"Are you riding in the joust?" Jon asked.

"I am. I hope to get a little practice before the feasting begins."

"You should see him with a sword," Loras told Robb.

"Perhaps they will, if you let them begin." Garlan smiled at his brother. "Who has already fought?"

"No one," Robb said. "Everyone keeps talking."

Garlan stepped out of their way, settling at the rail to watch.

Jon faced his brother.

For the first few passes, Robb gave him very little. He kept his shield close and turned Jon's first cut without lunging after it. Jon moved left; Robb followed with short steps, refusing the opening he had taken so often at Winterfell. Behind him, Theon called something unhelpful and was told to be quiet by three men at once.

Jon struck high and changed towards Robb's knee. His brother caught the second blow, shoved forward with his shield and made him retreat. There was more weight behind it than he expected. Sand shifted beneath his heel.

"Ser Rodrik?" Jon asked.

"Among others."

Robb came again before he finished speaking. Jon turned the cut and took one on his shield, then felt the blunt tap his ribs beneath his lifted arm.

Theon whooped. Robb backed away, breathing hard, his face alight.

"You have been working," Jon said.

"I told you."

Jon raised his sword. He had thought there would be time to feel out the changes in his brother before Robb punished him for it. That, too, was something worth learning.

The next exchange lasted longer. Robb made him earn the opening. When Jon finally drove Robb's shield aside and touched his shoulder with the blunt, his brother grinned through the sweat instead of demanding the point be fought again.

"Another."

"Two more," Arthur said from the rail. "Then let the others have the ground."

They obeyed reluctantly. When Jon stepped out, Loras was already pulling on his glove. He chose Mychel, to Harry's disgust; Domeric offered Harry a bout instead.

A silver eagle gleamed upon the breast of a man watching from the rail. He stood straight-backed and bareheaded, white showing in his brown hair, his blue-grey eyes following each stroke. The younger man beside him wore the same eagle; his collar stood open and his face was red from the sun. Jon guessed their kinship before Robb greeted them.

Lord Jason Mallister asked after Ned, then turned to Jon.

"Your brother said you would be difficult to catch. I see what he meant."

"He caught me once."

"You lifted your elbow after the first cut. He was ready for it." Jason glanced towards Robb. "Someone has been making you practise that."

Robb was still flushed from the bout. He listened closely while Jason pointed out where his foot had drifted too far forward. Patrek, his son, watched Loras and Mychel for a moment, then asked Domeric if he would take a turn when the ground was free.

Theon stood a little apart. His easy smile had gone when Jason approached. Jon remembered whose sword had killed Rodrik Greyjoy, and wondered whether Lord Mallister remembered every time he looked at the surviving brother.

Patrek did not seem to notice. He asked Theon whether he had brought a bow, and received a much more willing answer. Before long they were discussing the distance of the butts and arguing over which wind would trouble them. Jason left them to it. Jon was glad he did.

At the far end of the rail, Harras Harlaw waited while a squire fastened a strap at his wrist. He was tall and long-faced, his expression severe as he tested the fit. The silver scythe upon his clothing caught Theon's eye as he turned. He excused himself in the middle of a sentence.

"Ser Harras?"

The knight looked up. It took him a moment, then his expression cleared.

"Lord Theon. You have grown."

"I should hope so."

His smile had returned, though he straightened before offering his hand. Jon heard him ask after his mother, and stayed where he was. Harras answered more quietly. Whatever he said made Theon nod, looking down at the silver gull upon his shoulder.

"Write again after the contest," Harras told him. "Give her something to boast of."

Theon touched the badge. "She has heard about the last one."

"Then win another."

That brought a real grin. Theon led him over to meet Jon, and for a few minutes the scythe and direwolf stood together beside Mallister's eagle while Loras tried to put Mychel upon his back.

There were more familiar faces beyond them. Thoros of Myr leaned on the rail in his red robes, his shaven head shining in the sun. Beside him stood the slender, red-gold-haired Beric Dondarrion, the forked lightning bright upon his black surcoat. Thoros called advice that made Mychel laugh at exactly the wrong moment. Loras caught him with a sharp blow to the shoulder and then looked offended when the priest claimed half the credit.

Jon watched Garlan take the next turn against Lucan Marbrand. There was no flourish in the older Tyrell's work. He let Marbrand spend his strength, then moved inside a wide cut and ended the bout before the westerman could recover. Robb, wiping his face with a cloth, stopped speaking to watch the last exchange.

"I should like to try him," he said.

"So should I."

"You cannot fight everyone today."

Jon looked at him. Robb laughed.

William Mooton and his wife found Arthur while the younger men were choosing new opponents. A pearl net held Lady Mooton's hair beneath a light veil; she gathered its loose edge clear of the dusty rail before greeting Jon. She asked if the tales of his porcelain were true. Her husband waited until she had secured an invitation to Perrin's showing.

Then he drew a folded paper from his sleeve.

"I brought the copies, Ser Arthur. My brother's letters. I remembered you wished to see them."

Arthur accepted the paper carefully. "Thank you, William."

"There are names I could not place. Perhaps you could help me."

"Gladly."

Lady Mooton told him where they were lodged. They settled upon breakfast on the morning after the nameday, early enough to finish before the lists. Arthur asked leave to bring an old friend who had known Myles too. William hesitated when he heard Oberyn's name, then his wife touched his sleeve and he agreed.

Jon had heard enough to know what that hesitation cost. The king who had killed Myles would be feasting them tomorrow. Even a few family letters could become something to explain in the wrong company.

William turned to him as Arthur folded the letters away.

"My harbourmaster tells me Dragonstone has been taking more grain."

"We have more people."

"There are men in Maidenpool who would welcome a regular buyer."

"Have them send their names to Marrec. I would like to settle something before we leave."

"I shall." Mooton glanced towards the practice ground, where Robb was watching Garlan explain the last exchange to Marbrand. "Your brother seems pleased to have you back."

Jon smiled. "He has been waiting to hit me."

"Brothers often are." William's smile faded as he looked at the letters in Arthur's hand. His wife drew him gently towards the shaded walk.

By the time they went, Gawen and Vaelor had found Tomas beside the weapon rack. A knight with a brown horse was speaking to them. His shield had been painted over, leaving the old device showing faintly beneath the new coat. Vaelor asked him where he had served; Gawen wanted to know why he had left.

Jon waited until the man had gone before joining them.

"Worth watching?"

"Perhaps," Gawen said. "He says he has taught boys to ride. We shall see him at the lists."

"And ask the men who know him," Vaelor added. "There are two here from his last company."

Tomas looked as though he had something to say. Jon waited. The knight rubbed a thumb along the edge of his glove, glanced towards Arthur and then back.

"My lord. If you can spare me from the watch, I would like to put my name down."

"For the joust?"

"Aye."

"You need not ask as if you mean to steal the horse."

Gawen laughed. Tomas's ears reddened.

"I have practised against our own men. I should like to know how I stand against these." He nodded towards the field. "Men who have been riding in tourneys for years."

Jon looked at the scar above his brow. Tomas had earned his spurs in a fight where no herald could call an end. He had since spent much of his time watching other men do the things he wanted to try.

"Enter," Jon said. "Alasdair can arrange the watch. Have Arthur see you at practice before you ride."

"I will. Thank you, my lord."

Tomas was smiling when he turned back to Gawen. The two began discussing horses before Jon was out of earshot.

Aries met him at the edge of the ground, carrying the blunted sword Gawen had found for him.

"Have you a turn left?"

"For you?" Jon reached for his own. "I suppose."

"Gawen says I am quicker now."

"Then I shall have to be careful."

Aries took that very seriously. He pulled on his gloves and glanced towards Robb to make certain he was watching.

* * *

By the time they left the yard, Jon's shoulders ached pleasantly and Aries was insisting that his last blow had touched the doublet. Gawen said it had. Jon said they would have to try again to make certain. Aries turned at once to Robb. "You saw it, didn't you?"

Arthur left them after supper to meet Oberyn. Before he went, Aries reminded Jon of the dragon skulls. A servant found the man with the keys, and Robb and Theon came down with them beneath the castle.

At the foot of the stair their guide lifted his torch. Teeth appeared out of the darkness.

Aries caught Jon's sleeve. The skulls were black, the torchlight shining along a horn and the curve of a vast jaw. More lay beyond the first, growing larger as the light travelled over them. Even Theon was quiet beneath the greatest.

"How much did it eat?" Aries whispered.

Jon began to answer, then looked up into the jaws of Balerion. All of them could have stood inside. He thought of the broken egg waiting in his chamber on Dragonstone, and for a moment wanted nothing so much as to have it beneath his hands again.

Later he sat with Robb over the map he had promised to see. Theon stayed long enough to recommend three visits on the strength of daughters he had heard were pretty; Domeric corrected a road near the Dreadfort and asked where they meant to hunt. After they had gone, the brothers talked more quietly. Jon helped Robb put his questions in order for Ned, then listened as Robb told him of Arya's latest quarrel with her needlework.

He left well after the candles had burnt low. Robb was still talking from the doorway when Jon turned into the passage.

Perrin had finished laying out the gifts. Darys stood watch outside the room; within, twelve cups and six bowls shone softly beside the open salt box. One jar stood uncorked. Even by candlelight the grains were startlingly white, without the grey dust or dark flecks of the ordinary sort. Perrin had laid out a little spoon for the guests to taste it tomorrow.

Robert's armour occupied a broad stand near the window, the red finish dark in the candlelight. It was large enough to make Ewan's work for Jon look slight. Jon moved a candle nearer. Red gleamed along the curve of the chestplate; tomorrow, with the shutters open, the king would see it properly. An armourer would be there to mark any alterations he needed.

Tommen could have one when he was older. Jon meant to promise it before the court, where the boy's delight would do as much good as his father's approval. For now there was the wooden horse.

He drew back its covering. The painted head looked solemnly ahead, the mane carved in broad locks a child could grip without breaking. Jon pressed a palm upon its back and sent it rolling a foot across the boards. It was low enough for small feet to reach the floor on either side. Aries's little pull-along horse would have fitted beneath its belly.

Jon steadied the horse before it reached the table. Tomorrow Robert would watch his son try it. He hoped Tommen would be as certain of his steering as the boy who had left a mark in Jon's kitchen door.

He covered it again and told Darys to wake him if Perrin found anything amiss.

In his own chamber, Hugin stepped from the chair back onto his wrist. Jon felt the familiar pressure of the claws as he checked the water dish. Munin watched from the bedpost, her head tilted towards his moving hand. The other three crows had settled in their open baskets.

Arthur returned before Jon was asleep. He said little of Oberyn, save that they had spoken longer than he intended. Jon heard him moving in the adjoining chamber after the candles were extinguished, and the familiar sound let him rest.

He woke with something cold against his wrist.

A root had grown over the edge of the bed. White as old bone, it lay across his hand and disappeared beneath the coverlet. Jon pulled free and sat up.

The room was gone beyond the bedposts. A damp, earthy smell filled the darkness. Somewhere water fell slowly upon stone.

"You have kept me waiting," he said.

The red eye opened between the roots.

Bloodraven sat where the window should have been, his body sunk so deeply into the pale wood that Jon could not tell where flesh ended. The roots moved when he breathed. Jon could still feel the pillow beneath his head, though he was sitting upright. He held to that sensation.

"You remember how to wake," the old man said.

"I remember why I needed to."

Bloodraven watched him. In their last meeting he had shown Jon a throne and a kingdom dying around it. Jon had told Arthur everything afterwards. He had also asked for teaching, for something he could use before the disaster came.

"I have been working with the birds," Jon said. "I can hold five at a distance now. I am trying for more."

"Five will not be enough."

"I know. You told me I would need more." Jon drew his legs from beneath the blanket. His bare foot touched cold stone; beneath it he could still feel the warmth of his sleeping body. "I mean to go to Valyria. I will need them there."

"Valyria?"

The roots stilled against the old man's throat. For a moment Jon heard only the slow fall of water. Bloodraven's red eye did not leave him.

Then he lifted one thin hand. The wood drew aside beneath his fingers.

"Come here."

Jon stood. He did not move closer at once.

"No throne. No borrowed face."

The red eye remained upon him. Then Bloodraven lowered his hand to a root worn smooth beside his own.

Jon thought of the kitchen the old man had once taken from his memory, and of how long it had taken him to leave it. He kept the feel of the pillow, the warmth of the blanket, the quiet breathing from Arthur's chamber.

Then he crossed the stone and put his hand where Bloodraven had shown him.

Something beneath the wood began to move.