Wylla made him take the coat off again.
"It pulls when you reach."
"Only there." Jon lifted his arm to show her and regretted it. Aurane's lance had left a broad tenderness below the shoulder; the bath had done less for it than he had hoped.
"Let me take it out a little." She held out her hand.
He surrendered the coat. She had a needle ready, a length of black thread caught against her lip. At the window, Perrin kept his place on the list with a thumbnail while Gawen counted the men needed to carry the cases. Every box was below, every fastening checked. Jon had asked twice about the wheels of the little horse, until Perrin reminded him that they had rolled it through half the castle without losing one.
Now they were waiting for him.
Jon stood in his doublet while Wylla worked. The velvet was so dark that its folds disappeared unless he turned towards the light. Silver buttons closed it high at the throat. His coat, finer wool over a silk lining, had skirts divided for riding and a collar embroidered in black upon black. He had approved the leaves when they were scarcely more than chalk upon cloth. Upon his back they caught the light like wet foliage.
He had thought more about how the clothes would look than how they would feel. In his former life a coat this carefully fitted would have spent most of the year shut in a wardrobe. Here a lord was expected to wear his prosperity where other men could judge it. He meant them to judge the work well.
Wylla bit through the thread and beckoned him closer. This time she guided the sore arm herself.
"Now."
He reached for the window latch. The cloth gave with him.
"Better?"
"Much."
She smoothed the shoulder, then looked at the hair falling across his face. "Sit down. Your hair is still damp."
Hugin objected to being removed from the chair. Munin answered him from the bedpost, waking one of the three birds in the baskets. Wylla ignored the commotion. Her comb caught once; she set a hand against Jon's head to keep him still and worked it free. He closed his eyes. For a little while there was only the comb, the pull of fingers separating his white forelock, and the familiar sound of her setting things right about him.
Robb knocked while she was fastening the sword belt. He came in carrying Ned's letter flat against the folded cloak meant for Tommen. White edging showed at the wrists of his grey wool doublet, and a silver direwolf fastened its high collar. He tugged at that fastening while he waited for Jon to look round. His auburn hair had been combed smooth, though a damp curl was already escaping above one ear.
Theon followed in black velvet, gold braid running from his collar to the fitted waist. His belt buckle bore a little kraken, its arms spread across the leather. He brushed a pale thread from one sleeve, checked the other, then leaned over Robb's shoulder to look at the letter. His gloves were tucked beneath the belt; unlike Robb, he seemed entirely comfortable in the finery.
"Father says I am to put this into the king's own hands."
"Then do."
"I know that." Robb shifted the cloak. "Does he read them there, with everyone watching?"
"He may. You need not watch him read."
Theon reached for the letter. Robb drew it away.
"I was going to see whether Lord Stark had left room for the king's answers. He generally gives me more questions than parchment."
"You generally give him reason."
Jon smiled. Wylla caught his chin before he could turn towards them and straightened his collar. Her hands paused when she had finished. He covered one with his own, squeezed it, and rose.
Martyn took the cloak from Robb outside. Down the passage, Arthur waited beside the household men, speaking softly to the fitter who had come with Robert's armour. The man had a leather bag clutched between his knees. He stood as soon as he saw Jon and nearly upset it.
"You know the work," Jon told him. "If a strap wants moving, move it. That is why you are here."
The man nodded, less reassured than Jon had intended. Arthur picked up the bag and handed it to him.
At the end of the passage they heard the feast before they saw it.
The sound came through great doors bound with bronze: voices lifted above voices, the scrape of a stool, a trumpet trying a few notes and being answered by laughter. Warm air carried the smell of pepper and roasted onions into the cooler passage. A servant went backwards through the doorway beneath the front of a long platter, trusting the man behind him to keep them clear of the jamb.
Robb stopped just inside. Theon came up against his shoulder.
At Winterfell a feast grew noisy when the ale had gone round. Here men were already calling to acquaintances three tables away, though the king had yet to arrive. White cloth covered the tables nearest the dais. Lower down, a boy knelt on a bench to scour a wine stain with a handful of rushes while its owner argued that he had hardly touched the flagon. Sunlight fell in tall strips from the windows, catching the raised cups and leaving the faces beneath them in shadow.
Robert's hunting tapestries hung between the banners. One showed a white hart brought to bay beside a stream; the stitched water had faded almost to the colour of the animal. Under it a servant was trying to pass a bench whose occupants had all turned towards a dispute at the next table. He waited until a lady saw him, and her touch on her husband's sleeve did what his murmured requests had not.
"There are more people eating here than—" Robb began, then stopped counting.
"And more waiting to eat behind the screens," Theon said. He had found the servants' doors.
Jon looked past them to the Iron Throne. The royal table stood below it, screened from the lower hall by the breadth of the dais rather than any wall. Empty, the throne seemed less a seat than a heap left by some destructive labour. He followed a blade jutting from one arm and wondered how often a tired man had forgotten it was there.
He would have to sit upon it someday. This afternoon he had brought its present owner a gift.
Perrin found them before a steward could send them down the wrong aisle. Monford Velaryon had kept the place beside him, on Jon's left. Beyond the seahorse clasp at his shoulder, Ardrian Celtigar was refusing to move a dish until Mylenda Bar Emmon assured him that another would come. The Crownlanders stretched away past their company; Rosby's cough interrupted Lady Tanda Stokeworth often enough that she began waiting for it before she finished a sentence.
Robb sat at Jon's right. Wylis Manderly drew his chair nearer to make room, and Wendel leaned across the table to catch the bread before Theon could sit upon the end of it. The Vale company continued beyond them. Harry waved with his cup, received a look from Anya Waynwood, and lowered it without drinking. Mychel found this very amusing.
Across the aisle, a Marbrand youth had risen to let Myranda Lefford and Darlessa Marbrand reach Genna's company at the Westerlands table. Farther along, a man wearing the nightingales of Caron insisted upon demonstrating a horse's stumble with both hands. One Buckler laughed; another protested that the ground had been bad. The Stormlanders had heard the story before and intended to enjoy it again.
Aries arrived late enough to receive a reproach from Wylla Manderly.
"You said you were coming straight here."
"Ser Vaelor wanted to see the dragon skulls."
"You wanted to show him."
Aries glanced towards Jon, who was occupied with his cup. Wynafryd took her sister's elbow and made room for the boy. She wore green, with pearls drawn through her hair; when she leaned across to greet Jon, her gaze went to the arm he was keeping close.
"I saw Aurane's second pass."
Theon nodded towards Aurane. "He has been describing it ever since."
Aurane, sitting opposite, waited for Jon to defend himself.
"I won the other two."
"He describes those less often," Robb added, and Aurane accepted the bread with a dignity that made Domeric laugh.
Then the trumpets sounded properly. Men stood so quickly that a bench went over near the doors. The noise dwindled beneath the last bright note.
Robert brought his own laughter into the hall. Gold stags ran across his black velvet, and the belt under his belly shone with yellow stones. Renly walked beside him, listening with the bright attention that encouraged a man to make his story better. The brothers had the same smile, though Renly's sat upon a younger, unburdened face.
Cersei followed with the children. Tommen had his hand in Myrcella's and was attempting to see past everyone at once. Joffrey's blue silk was fastened with little golden lions. He bowed to the hall before his mother did; Jon saw Cersei's hand settle briefly upon his shoulder in approval.
Arryn brought Lysa and their son to their places. At the other end of the high table, Stannis waited for Selyse to sit before drawing out his own chair. Shireen leaned towards her cousin, her dark hair slipping over the grey ridges on her cheek. Renly said something to her and she smiled, then looked to her father to see whether he had heard.
The council found its places amid the last adjustments. Pycelle gathered his chain clear of a bowl. Varys helped a page retrieve a fallen napkin. Petyr Baelish, arriving with two gentlemen who had been contesting a seat, left one beside a man he plainly knew and conducted the other farther along. Both appeared pleased. Jon wished he had heard what Petyr had promised them.
Robert raised his cup to Tommen. The boy stood upon his footstool, accepted the cheers gravely, and sat before they had finished because Myrcella was showing him a dish of cherries.
The first dishes came while men were still drinking the toast. Trout lay in butter speckled with herbs, their crisp skins splitting beneath the serving spoon. Monford opened a pigeon pie; steam rose between them, rich with onions and gravy. Jon took fish before anyone could ask him a question. At the next table a girl was trying to eat a little bird baked into pastry without touching its protruding feet.
The herald had to call twice before the bearers could get through. Tommen's cherries were moved to make room for a silver cup, a painted shield, and a hunting horn which he blew before the giver had finished bowing. Cersei lowered it with two fingers. Arryn put a book before him instead, opened to a stag pursued by hounds. Tommen wanted to know whether the stag escaped. The Hand found the last page of the tale, considered it, and said they would read it together.
Then the Tyrell servants brought in a wicker cage. Its birds remained silent while Mace described the singing they had done at Highgarden.
Loras leaned towards his sister. Margaery shook her head at whatever he suggested, knelt beside the cage, and gave a low whistle. One bird cocked its head. She tried again. It answered so suddenly that Tommen laughed, and Myrcella came round her mother's chair to see.
"They sing to one another," Margaery told her. "If he begins, she usually follows."
Tommen attempted the whistle. Only air emerged. Margaery waited while he tried a second time, and made no pretence of hearing a sound that was not there.
"Loras was certain she would choose horses," Renly said to Cersei. "I begin to think she knew her audience better."
The queen looked past him to Alerie. "Your daughter has been well advised."
"She chose them herself, Your Grace."
Cersei inclined her head and summoned Tommen back to his place. Margaery rose at once, curtsying before she withdrew with her brother. Myrcella watched her go. Renly drew Loras aside to say something, and Mace remained by the dais until Robert asked about the Redwyne wine being brought behind him.
Jon wiped butter from his fingers. A cage could have been delivered by a servant. Loras had brought his sister with it, and Renly had made certain the queen noticed her. Margaery, meanwhile, was looking back to see whether Tommen had managed his whistle. Jon liked her better for that.
The preserved grapes sent with Paxter's wine were opened for the children. Joffrey took up the abandoned horn to explain how it should be held, but Tommen had turned towards the birds again. His brother set it down and reached for his cup.
When Winterfell was called, Robb wiped his fingers upon the cloth twice before noticing Jon watching.
"There is no gravy on them."
"I know." He rose.
Martyn followed with the cloak. Jon went with them, hearing the murmur change as men recognised his hair. Robert had seen Robb first.
"Ned's boy! Come nearer. Gods, look at you." He held out his hand for the letter, then caught Robb's forearm instead. "He has sent me a son and stayed at home himself. What excuse has he made this time?"
"He writes it better than I could, Your Grace."
Robert laughed and broke the seal. While he read, Cersei allowed Martyn to spread the cloak across the table. Thick northern wool, soft at the collar, with room for a growing boy. Tommen stood while Myrcella settled it about him. The hem nearly hid his shoes.
"Will it snow here?" he asked Robb.
"When winter comes, my prince."
"Enough to make a fort?"
"If it falls deep enough."
"There was snow at Storm's End," Shireen said. No one heard her except Jon and her mother. Selyse laid a hand beside her plate, keeping the little girl from leaning too far to call again.
Robert folded the letter only halfway. "You will sit with me later. Your father has written three pages and contrived to tell me nothing I want to hear." His hand came down warmly upon Robb's shoulder. "You can mend that."
Jon saw his brother straighten beneath it. He had imagined Robb meeting the king many times. He had not expected the small, private envy of watching Robert obtain that smile so easily.
"And you." The king's attention swung towards him. "Is this what I get for giving Ned's other son an island? News of fighting every time a ship comes in?"
"They had taken our ships, Your Grace. I could not leave them to take more."
Robert caught Jon's hand. His thumb passed over the old scar in the palm, and his grip eased.
"You have done enough fighting for one year, Black. Ned sends me boys and expects me to send them home whole."
"He gave us much the same instruction, Your Grace."
The king looked from him to Robb, then towards Arthur. "See that they remember it when the shouting starts."
"I want to see both of you upon your feet after tomorrow. Your brother tells me he is entering the melee."
Robb looked startled; he had told no such thing yet. Robert laughed at his face.
"Your father tells me, then. He tells me everything except what I ask him."
Tommen had discovered the covered horse.
He came down two steps before Cersei called him back. Jon turned, grateful for the interruption, and signalled to the household boys. Aries took one end of the cloth, Darys the other. The horse emerged nose first, its mane carved in thick curls, its wooden wheels painted to match the legs.
The prince stared. He looked at his mother, then at Jon, then at the saddle.
"It is for riding," Jon assured him.
Myrcella had already found the place for his feet. While a servant took the new cloak, she held the horse's head as solemnly as any groom. Jon braced its back and helped Tommen settle. The boy's small hand closed over his scar.
For a moment Jon remembered a different room, a child on a carpet, a toy held up for repair with such confidence that failure had seemed impossible. He had been a father before any of these people were born. The memory arrived with the warmth of Tommen's fingers and left him kneeling longer than he intended.
"Will it go?" the prince asked.
Jon made himself smile. "You must do that part."
One push sent the horse forward. Tommen looked back in astonishment and almost rode over Myrcella's shoe. She stepped aside, laughing. Barristan moved a stool out of his way; a lady caught up her skirts; the prince discovered speed.
"He will break his neck," Joffrey said.
"On that?" Robert looked delighted. "I have seen you fall farther getting into bed."
Joffrey's cheeks went pink. Jon caught Sandor's expression behind him: the scarred face had changed very little, but his eyes were upon the king. He took Joffrey's abandoned horn from a servant and held it without comment.
"He needs to learn the turn," Jon said, before the laughter could gather around the older boy. He walked beside Tommen and showed him how to push with one foot. Myrcella followed, determined to help.
The prince named the horse Thunder after Robert demanded a name twice. He resisted every attempt to bring it to a halt. Cersei finally sent Myrcella to take him between the tables, where there was more room and fewer steps.
Robert watched them go. Jon let him enjoy it before Perrin uncovered the armour.
Light ran across the red harness as the cloth fell away. The dragonglass finish gave the steel a deep, lustrous colour; a brighter sheen travelled over the breast's curve and broke along the fitted plates at the waist. In the hollows it darkened almost to black. Bright steel edged the cheek pieces and caught the sun in narrow lines. Robert came down from the dais without waiting to be invited.
He touched the breastplate, then lifted the helm. His thumb found the visor catch.
"For me?"
"I drew the design. My smith Ewan and his armourers made it to the measurements of your old harness. The fitter must see what wants changing."
"Then where is he?"
The man stepped forward so quickly that Arthur caught the bag slipping from his hand. Barristan made room. Robert was already undoing his cloak.
Arryn rose. "Your Grace, there are still—"
"They can watch."
They did. Renly came down to help until the fitter, discovering his courage, asked him to hold the helm instead. Robert endured the padded jack and the first straps, then began demanding that they hurry. Yohn Royce left his conversation to watch. Beside him, Balon Swann bent to see the wrist joints. Renly called Garlan Tyrell nearer and asked whether he had ever worn so fine a harness; Mace followed his son into the space that opened. Soon Robert was asking which horse Garlan meant to ride. Jaime leaned against the dais, his amusement growing when the king demanded a mirror.
The mirror quieted Robert.
He turned a little, feeling the weight. Light moved across the dragonglass finish with him, red deepening beneath his arms while his shoulders shone. The man in the glass was thick through the belly, his beard darker than the thinning hair above it. Yet the armour carried his shoulders well. He drew himself up and struck a fist against the open palm of his gauntlet.
The sound made an older knight behind Yohn laugh aloud. Jon looked round at him, then at the others. He knew what victories could buy a ruler, and how long men might remain loyal to the commander they remembered. Here they were, seeing that man again beneath the years of fat. Jon had supplied the armour. The affection in their faces belonged to Robert, and would still belong to him when the armour came off.
"I should wear this in a melee," Robert declared. "A proper one."
From between the tables Tommen called that his father had promised to watch with him.
The hall heard. Cersei sat back, her hands folded. Arryn remained on his feet.
Robert looked from one to the other and gave an irritated snort. "I can watch in armour."
Tommen considered this acceptable and returned to his horse. Renly laughed first; the king followed him, and the fitter was allowed to finish marking his adjustments.
Joffrey came down while the breastplate was being loosened. He asked where lions might be placed upon a smaller harness. Robert was still questioning Garlan about his horse.
"Ask the man," he said, without turning.
The boy's fingers tightened upon the stand. Jon brought the fitter nearer, but Cersei had risen before the man could begin. She asked whether the finish could be made green. Jon said there was green dragonglass, but his smiths had yet to finish a harness in it. The queen directed the answer to Joffrey, then said his present armour would be examined before anything was ordered.
She could protect his dignity when she chose. Jon remembered Gerren fighting for the place she had promised him in the prince's service, and how little that promise had survived his defeat. He gave her room to pass.
Balon Swann caught Jon before he could follow the queen. He wanted to know whether the armourers would take an order. By the time Jon had brought Perrin forward, a Marbrand knight had lifted the helm from its stand and was turning it beneath the window.
"Red alone?" he asked.
"The glass comes in black, green, red and purple," Jon said. "That does not mean we can make all four finishes. This one took moons."
Mace drew Garlan nearer at the mention of green. "With gold roses at the borders. You must send word when your smith has it right."
Garlan reached past him to touch the smooth cheek piece. "Will the green shine like this?"
Jon hoped it would. He said so, and left Perrin explaining how the fitter would take their measures after the morning's contests. Two more knights had come to listen. They made a place for Jon to leave, then closed it behind him.
At the royal table Cersei was holding a porcelain cup towards the light. Her fingers showed through its white wall. Beside her, Pycelle had a bowl almost against his nose.
"Who brought these from the east?" she asked.
"They were made upon Dragonstone, Your Grace. Ellyn, the potter in my service, made this set."
Robert returned without his breastplate and reached between them. "Pretty things." He held out the cup for wine, already asking Arthur when he could have the harness back. Cersei drew the remaining pieces clear of his elbow.
Jon stepped aside as the wine came. Below him Olenna had intercepted Perrin, who still carried a plain cup in its wrapping. Margaery leaned beside her grandmother to see it held against the light; one of her curls brushed the old woman's wimple and was impatiently brushed away.
"Four dragons for this little trinket?" Olenna turned it to examine the foot. "Have we become so short of silver?"
"We have silver," Alerie said. "I should like these."
"Then you had better ask whether there are any left after the queen's twelve." Olenna kept the cup when Perrin offered to take it. "Paxter should look at the packing. His factors will have seen what the eastern sort fetches."
Genna came to Alerie's other side with Darlessa Marbrand. The two women made room for Myranda Lefford, who had brought a bowl from the table and was comparing its depth with the silver dish in a servant's hands. He waited, uncertain whether he was meant to surrender that too.
"Let the man go, Myranda," Genna said, making room for him to pass.
Darlessa wanted a set for her solar; Myranda wanted to know whether the bowls must all have the same border. Jon answered both, raising his voice a little to be heard over Robert calling for his cloak.
"You can have your own designs. Arms, flowers, whatever the potter can work. We are preparing a finer sort with a dragonglass finish, like the armour. Those are not ready to offer yet."
Cersei set down her cup.
"The first will come to me. I shall choose for the royal household before you offer them elsewhere." She looked at the bowl in Myranda's hands. "A service for myself, and sets for the children. Your other customers can wait."
Myranda lowered the bowl. Olenna resumed turning her cup, now studying a part she had examined already.
Jon could hear Perrin behind him, explaining a fastening to one of the knights. He needed him here. The queen had made a request sound like an arrangement already settled, and every woman within reach was waiting to learn whether it was one.
"I can reserve the first service for Your Grace. Your steward can agree the price with mine. The children's designs can follow, but I must honour the orders already taken."
"The drawings will come to me," Cersei said. "Lions upon mine, with gold at the rims. You were particular enough about Joffrey's clock. I expect the same care."
Myrcella had come back to fetch her brother's cloak. She stopped beside the open case. "Could mine have flowers?"
"It could, my princess."
"We shall choose them together," Cersei told her. She began describing the size she wanted, keeping Jon there while Myrcella folded the cloak over her arm. Darlessa returned her cup to its cloth. Genna stayed beside her, speaking quietly, and when Jon was at last permitted to go she caught Perrin's sleeve herself.
Petyr Baelish was watching the women. His eyes passed over the porcelain, the crowded armour stand, then the cases still waiting to be opened. He had worn much the same look that afternoon, before there had been so many people offering to pay.
"Your man will have a busy morning," he said. "I could spare him some disappointments about who can pay."
He named a lord who had bought new horses while leaving a debt unpaid. Olenna asked whose debt. Petyr supplied the lender and the sum without appearing to search for either.
That was knowledge Jon could use. The lender might also be grateful to learn what Lord Black meant to sell, to whom, and how urgently he needed payment.
"I shall leave my steward to judge the promises he accepts," he said. "If you wish to order anything, he will be at the showing."
"I shall look forward to it." Petyr's smile did not alter. He moved aside for Ardrian Celtigar, who had followed the opening of the salt box as closely as other men had followed the armour.
Ardrian took a few grains upon his finger. He tasted them, frowned into the box and tasted again. Wylis Manderly bent beside him. Before either could ask a question, Robert called for some upon his meat.
A kitchen servant ran for a bowl. The cook came with it, flour caught in the creases of his hands. He bowed too low, tasted at the king's insistence, then forgot to be frightened long enough to ask how much there was.
"There is a course coming now, my lords," he said when Ardrian began to speak.
Robert waved him on. Perrin filled the bowl, and the sample went through the screens with two possible buyers still watching it. Jon found himself smiling after it. They would be arguing in the kitchens about how best to use what his people had made.
"When we last met, I bought a belt clasp," Tyrion said beside him. "You went away and acquired a fleet. I should have stayed for the rest of your shopping."
Jon looked at the buckle upon his crimson doublet. Mott had finished it. He remembered the close heat of the shop, and how their talk had soured before Tyrion left.
"There was rather more fighting than I wanted."
"I imagine there was." Tyrion's eyes lingered upon him before moving to the men gathered round the armour. "And now everyone wishes to know you. Have you managed to eat?"
"A little fish."
"You will be fortunate to get more. I have been trying to get a word with you since the armour came out." He shifted closer as a servant passed with a laden tray. "Be careful how much of this you encourage. They like being seen to know the young lord who has done so well. Refuse one of them tomorrow, and he will wonder when you became so pleased with yourself."
Jon followed his glance. One of the knights at the stand had begun speaking over Perrin's answer to another.
"I have no intention of seeking popularity at court. I am trying to improve my holding however I can."
"Perhaps I should have been born a bastard, then. I am rarely so humble."
Tyrion took a sip from the cup a servant offered him, watching Jon over the rim.
Jon let the smile stay upon his face. He had chosen every gift with this hall in mind. He wanted the talk to follow him home, wanted men to think of Dragonstone when they needed ships or work or a lord worth serving. Improving his holding was true enough; it was hardly all he intended.
"I cannot afford to refuse everyone who wants something," he said.
"No. But you need not agree merely because he has managed to catch you here." Tyrion nodded towards the fitter, who was trying to answer a question while packing his bag. "Let your men finish. Come and eat."
Jon took a cup himself. Their disagreement in Mott's shop remained, but Tyrion was making room for him beside the steps instead of asking him to account for it. He went with him.
Before they reached the tables, Tyrion asked whom he meant to back tomorrow.
"Arthur."
"Jaime," Tyrion said. "I shall enjoy taking your money."
Robert called the fitter back. Beyond him, Tommen had persuaded Barristan to watch a turn that required almost the whole aisle. Jon had meant the horse to win affection and the armour to win attention. Watching the old knight step solemnly clear, he was glad the boy had received his gift first.
Harry had taken Jon's place, though he had left the trencher untouched. Bread crusts lay in two uneven rows upon the cloth before him. Mychel Redfort moved a little heap of salt between them while Robb watched with his chin in his hand.
"There," Mychel said. "If we keep that side clear, you can reach us."
"Those are the Reachmen," Harry objected.
Robb picked up the nearest crust. "They have suffered losses."
"Mostly to Artys," Theon said.
Artys Elesham finished chewing. Harry surrendered Jon's chair and drew up a stool, making Anya Waynwood lift her skirts out of his way. Jon sat between his brother and Monford with a small, grateful sigh. Someone had put buttery onions upon his trencher. He had been smelling them for half an hour.
"We were deciding where to find one another if we are divided," Harry told him.
Robb moved the bread aside as a girl brought a capon between them.
Honey had darkened its skin almost to the colour of the dish. The girl held it steady while Jon cut, releasing steam and the smell of sage. Across the table Aurane shifted his cup away from Mychel's elbow; Domeric leaned back to let another servant through. For a little while everybody wanted something passed.
Harry waited until Jon had swallowed. "I gather the Vale men first. I will not have Mychel chasing after you while half my company are still fighting alone."
"We gather ours," Jon agreed. "Then we find you."
"And when there is nobody else left?" Artys asked.
Robb reached for the last crust. Harry caught his wrist.
"Then he can try that with a sword."
Anya looked round at the laughter. Harry put both feet upon the floor before she could comment on his stool, and Jon took another mouthful while he had the chance.
The benches had grown closer as people shifted to join friends. Wendel Manderly was defending the remains of an eel pie from a man who wished to carry it away; beyond him a Blackwood youth dragged a chair out of the passage with its Bracken occupant still sitting upon it. The Bracken boy got up at once, wine running down his sleeve. Neighbouring squires beat the table until Jonos Bracken turned towards them. Across the dish of beans, Tytos Blackwood beckoned his own youth back to his place. The boy obeyed, still grinning.
The arrival of the boar drew Robert's attention from his wine. He watched the carver work, called for a larger piece, then ordered a dish sent down to Ned's sons. Lord Grandison spoke of a hunt. Someone mentioned a ford, and within moments the king was back upon the Trident.
"You were nowhere near it. Yohn, tell him where you were!"
Royce answered. Men farther down called out places and names, disputing where a horse had fallen, where the river had been deepest. Robb turned upon the bench to hear. Jon had heard soldiers do this around other tables, in another life; even the contradictions were familiar. He was smiling when Robert began to describe Rhaegar's rubies.
Across the hall, Obara put down her cup. Oberyn leaned towards the man beside her and began speaking. The man kept looking past him towards the king, and Oberyn touched his sleeve to bring him back.
Jon bit the inside of his cheek.
Robb accepted the dish with thanks and offered him the first slice. Fat shone beneath the crushed pepper. Jon took it, unwilling to explain why he did not want it, and listened to his brother ask Yohn Royce a question. The king had all of Robb's attention now. Jon chewed; the pepper stung the place he had bitten.
Aurane reached for the wine. His fingers failed to close comfortably about the handle, and Monford took the jug from him before he could lift it.
"You have another hand."
"That one is holding my cup."
Monford filled it. Robb turned back at their exchange, his own cup forgotten.
"Alester told me you took the ferry back," he said to Aurane. "With your hand like that?"
"We were carrying the wounded out to the ships. Freed slaves, too; we had boys sitting between the stretchers." Aurane set his cup down. "There were still people coming down the steps when we pushed off. I took her back for them."
Robb glanced at Jon, who nodded. Aurane had gone back with that injured hand. Jon looked at the wine Monford had poured for him, then reached past it to move a dish so the servant waiting behind them could clear it away.
"Those poor souls." Lady Tanda had been listening from beyond Ardrian Celtigar. "Were there many children?"
Jon laid down his knife. "More than I would have wished to find there."
"And have you somewhere fit for them? I heard you had brought whole shiploads away."
"We have houses ready. Other families are sharing until the builders finish."
She leaned nearer, and Ardrian obligingly moved the dish between them. "How many altogether?"
"Three thousand and two hundred. Some came before the fighting."
Tanda's lips parted. She looked down at the food upon her plate before turning to her elder daughter. "Falyse, we must go through the linen."
"The old linen, I suppose." Falyse lowered her hippocras. "Unless you mean to empty our beds as well."
"Linen fit to be given. Sheets and blankets. Things we can spare."
"Then you had better look before promising them."
Tanda drew her younger daughter forward. The woman had been sitting behind her mother's shoulder, picking carefully at a small bone in her fish. She was fat, her green silk drawn tight across her upper arms; when Tanda spoke her name she set down her knife and looked up, uncertain whom she was meant to address.
"Lollys will help me. She has such a tender heart. Tell Lord Black what you were asking."
Lollys's brown eyes moved from her mother to Jon. "Who puts them to bed?"
He had expected another question about houses. "Their mothers, when we have found them. Other women care for those who are alone."
"But they would want their own mothers."
"Yes," Jon said. "They would."
She worried at the bone with the point of her knife. Tanda gently took the plate from her and passed it to a servant.
"It will be easier with proper beds," Tanda said. "They cannot all have brought their belongings. A blanket is something, even when one cannot do more."
"It would be welcome."
She smiled at that. "You must come to supper and tell us what is needed. Lollys would like to hear how the children fare, would you not, sweetling?"
Lollys nodded. Falyse drank again, watching Jon over the rim. He was not merely Ned Stark's bastard to their mother; there was an island now, and ships, and a place near the king. Tanda would be able to see her daughter well settled and do a kindness at the same time.
"I cannot promise an evening yet," he told her. "But I shall have an account brought to you."
"You can bring it yourself when you are free." She turned before he could answer, asking Mylenda Bar Emmon whether there were women in her household who could be spared to sort clothing.
Jon picked up his knife again. His boar had cooled. Robb offered him the capon, but he shook his head; he would finish what was on his trencher.
Mace Tyrell had stopped beside Wylis, with Alerie and Renly behind him. He caught enough of Tanda's explanation to announce that Highgarden could feed a king's host twice over; a few more mouths upon Dragonstone would scarcely trouble its granaries. Wylis said he would be glad to hear what could be sent by sea. Monford drew out a place for Perrin, who had come to see whether Jon needed him, and the talk moved to ports.
Jon left them to it. Monford knew the men who would have to put those promises aboard ships. He asked a question of Mace's attendant and listened while Lord Tyrell was still praising the harvest.
Renly found room beside Harry without asking anyone to rise. Soon Mychel was explaining the proposed alliance to him, while Alerie spoke to Wynafryd across the back of Robb's chair. Jon watched Harry straighten when Renly remembered something he had said earlier. The easy charm he remembered reading about worked very well at close quarters.
"Have you tried the Faith's houses?" Tanda asked him.
He turned back. "For what, my lady?"
"Finding their families. A septa I know found a boy's mother through a pilgrim who had come from Maidenpool. They had been looking for each other for months."
"Where we have names to send, we send them. Sometimes a child remembers a place better than a name."
Lollys had been following with an anxious crease between her brows. "Could you take him there?"
"One boy has asked me to. His name is Laro. He comes from Lys."
"That is across the sea," she said.
"It is. He remembers his father's workshop, and the shops beside it. We have sent letters."
She considered this. "Will his father come?"
Jon had imagined that readily enough: another man with a trade, another household on his island, a son grateful to the lord who had brought them together. He needed families who would stand by him when he claimed the name Aemon. He had allowed himself to think of Laro among them until the boy asked for passage home.
"If we find him, Laro wants to go to him."
"Oh." Her expression cleared. "Then he could show you the way."
Jon smiled, though his cheek hurt. "I hope so."
Monford had turned at the mention of Lys. He waited until Tanda began speaking again, then touched Jon's arm and quietly asked for the boy's account. He had a factor there. Jon thanked him and reached for his cup, finding it empty.
Tanda offered the jug before he could ask. "The septas will be such a comfort to them until then. I told Lord Guncer we could help with what they would need."
Jon kept his cup upon the table. "Which septas?"
"The teachers. His High Holiness—" She looked towards Guncer, who had turned from Mylenda to hear them. "You spoke to him today, did you not?"
"I did," Jon said. "I agreed to no house upon Dragonstone."
Guncer's kindly expression altered. "I understood you were to hear how it might be provided for."
"I agreed to listen. That was all."
Tanda held the jug a moment longer, then lowered it. Beside her, Lollys looked from one face to another. The discussion of shipping went on behind Jon; Perrin had to raise his voice to be heard over Renly's laugh.
"I should be glad of the linen," Jon added.
"Of course," Tanda said, but she did not resume her plans with Mylenda. Guncer was watching him. Jon had refused the High Septon in a quiet chamber that afternoon. Here there were blankets, children, a woman offering to help. He could already feel how the refusal would sound if he had to repeat all of it.
Guncer set his cup aside. "Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding."
"Perhaps."
The old lord nodded without seeming reassured. Jon wanted to make the distinction plain before another promise was made on his behalf. He also wanted to eat with Robb while the food was still warm. Before he could choose, his brother rose so abruptly that the bench struck Jon's knee.
Lysa Arryn had reached them with her little son clinging to her hand. She took Robb's face between her palms and kissed him. Theon leaned aside to inspect something under the table.
Pearls gleamed in Lysa's piled auburn hair; powder lay thick beside her nose without hiding the puffiness beneath her eyes. She kept Robb's hand when he tried to release it.
"Your mother is well?"
"Very well, Aunt Lysa. She sends her love."
"She should have come herself. I would have found rooms for her and the girls."
"Sansa would have liked that. She will want to hear about tonight." Robb glanced towards the dais. "I ought to remember what everyone is wearing."
"You may leave that to me. I will write to her." Lysa smiled and drew him nearer so she need not raise her voice. "And Arya? Would she have liked the birds?"
"She wanted to come for the fighting."
"To watch, I hope."
Robb laughed. "She did not say. She thinks it unfair that we can leave our lessons for a tournament when she must stay behind with hers."
"Mother." Little Robert pressed against her skirts.
"In a moment, sweetling." She freed her hand from Robb's to smooth the boy's hair. "And what did you tell her?"
"That we still had to do what we were told. She did not believe me." He was still smiling. "She would have believed it if she had seen Ser Arthur in the yard today."
Lysa laughed with him, her fingers moving through her son's hair. The boy watched Robb without smiling.
Jon watched her fingers. Poison, a letter to Catelyn, Petyr behind both: he remembered enough to dread her and too little to know how near any of it might be. Arryn was alive. Robb was laughing with his aunt. After the feast Jon would set down what he could remember and begin finding out which parts still held true. He would not let Baelish choose the hour of the war that might destroy them before he was ready.
Little Robert caught his mother's hand and tugged it down. She broke off to bend over him, promising that he need not stay much longer. Robb drew out a stool, but she would not sit. She wanted him to visit her, properly, where they could talk. Jon looked back towards Tanda while his brother promised. Guncer had left his place.
Servants were clearing the nearest tables now. Alester caught Jon's trencher before it could be taken; Rosamund told him to let the poor man finish. Jon ate the last of his supper standing, obliged to move when two men lifted the bench. Domeric followed the harper to the place being cleared for the musicians, tapping a rhythm against his cup.
The shifting benches brought Jon to the foot of the dais, where Ralph Buckler and Brus were talking. Brus lifted his recovered arm in greeting. Shireen saw Jon from the high table and beckoned him up. Her father stood beside her chair while Selyse examined the plate a servant had brought.
"Plain meat," she said. "I asked for none of this sauce."
Tall and spare in her gown, she held the dish until the man took it back. Shireen waited with both hands in her lap, her dark hair pinned clear of the grey ridges upon her cheek. She brightened when she saw Jon.
"Tommen says the horse can go upstairs."
"Someone would have to carry it."
She glanced at her father. Stannis looked towards the royal table, where Thunder had stopped against a pillar.
"He is to get off first," Jon added.
"Make certain he knows that," Stannis said.
Selyse returned the corrected plate to her daughter. Shireen began cutting her meat, but Stannis had turned his attention to the tables below the Crownlanders.
"The man with the open collar. That is your pirate?"
Jon followed his gaze to the man reaching for the wine.
"Captain Vhalar."
"I have heard of the holding you promised him." Stannis moved an empty chair out of a servant's way. "What punishment did you impose?"
"His pardon was part of the terms."
"So he lost nothing by entering your service."
"He surrendered his ships. He takes his orders from a knight of mine."
"And has land to look forward to." Stannis set the chair against the wall. A boy came past with a stack of trenchers, gravy running over his knuckles. "Ser Davos brought food through the Redwyne blockade when my men were starving. I knighted him and gave him lands upon Cape Wrath. He earned them. I also punished him for the smuggling."
Jon remembered that part very well. He had read it years before he had ever seen Storm's End: the onions, the salted fish, the first joints cut from the fingers of Davos's left hand. He had admired the knighthood and hated the rest. Hearing it from Stannis did not make him like it better.
"You took his fingertips."
"He had broken the law many times. He knew what he was doing."
"Ser Davos always comes to see me," Shireen said.
Her knife had stopped against the edge of her plate. She looked up at her father, then at Jon.
"When he comes home. He sits with me, even when everyone is busy."
Stannis's gaze dropped to her. "He is a good man."
Shireen nodded firmly, satisfied that this had been established, and returned to her supper. Jon watched her push a piece of meat onto her knife. She had spoken of Davos as readily as Robb might speak of someone from Winterfell.
"I would have left him his fingers," Jon said.
Stannis looked back at him. "Would you have punished him at all?"
Jon had been about to answer when he noticed Selyse listening. Ralph had stopped talking to Brus. This was becoming an argument about a man who was not there, and Jon was defending a very different one.
"Vhalar was still fighting when I made the offer. Accepting it gave him a reason to call his men off. I had wounded to bring home."
"You might have offered him his life. Must you give him land as well?"
"I meant to employ him. I wanted him to believe there was something to be gained by serving me."
There it was, without the wounded to shelter behind. He had needed them out alive; he had also wanted experienced captains for the ships he was taking. The bargain had served both purposes. He would make it again, though it sounded less generous spoken over a supper table.
"He has gained a great deal," Stannis said. "What does a man who has served honestly have to do to earn the same?"
"I gave him my word."
"Then keep it. I have said nothing of breaking it." Stannis's mouth tightened. "You asked too little of him before you gave it."
A servant bent to ask whether Shireen had finished. Stannis put a hand upon the back of her chair and told the man to leave her plate. She cut another small piece, watching the clearing floor beyond Jon's shoulder.
He moved aside so she could see. Tommen had got the horse free of the pillar and was trying to turn it. Jon would have to tell him about the stairs. He stayed another moment, until Shireen had swallowed, and asked whether she would help him explain it.
Robert announced the hunt while the servants were clearing the lower tables. He wanted Yohn Royce and Ned's boy, and enough hounds to find something worth killing once the tournament was done. Mace began offering horses before the king had finished. Renly added Garlan's name, and the invitation travelled through men who hoped it included them.
Robb went to the dais when Robert beckoned. He looked back at Jon with a grin that asked whether he could believe his luck.
Jon waved him on. A bench passed between them, carried by men who had to lift it over a guest reluctant to abandon his pigeon. The musicians were trying a slower tune beneath the noise. Genna Lannister had secured a chair beside the cleared floor and was directing Emmon to one on her other side. He came with almond cakes instead; sourleaf stained the corners of his mouth, and his explanation went unheard when she spotted a passing niece.
Ysilla caught Jon before he reached them.
"You promised," she said, putting her hand into his.
He had. Bronze ribbons moved at her wrist as she drew him towards the forming line. On the far side Margaery was waiting with Garlan; Andren Plumm listened earnestly to Elinor's instructions and started with the wrong foot. Ysilla lost her own place laughing. Jon steadied her, and she squeezed his fingers in thanks before the turn separated them.
The noise changed with every crossing. Near the musicians he could scarcely hear her; by the open doors a cool draught passed beneath his collar, carrying her perfume away with the smell of meat. She was telling him of Myranda's baggage chest falling into a ford. Three horses had been draped in drying gowns, and Ysilla had spent half the ride keeping a sleeve out of the mud.
"She said I stretched it," she told him as they came together again. "You saw her wearing it yesterday. Did it look stretched?"
"I was not looking at the sleeves."
"I shall tell her that."
"Please don't."
She laughed. When he took her back to Myranda, she was still telling him about the ruined gowns, and he stayed to hear Myranda dispute how many had been hers.
Obara stood at the edge of the floor with a hand extended towards him.
Obara could dance? He looked at her hand a moment too long. One eyebrow rose.
"Who told you a daughter of the Red Viper could not dance?"
"No one."
"Then come."
She knew the dance better than he did. He had barely found his place before she turned away with the next man, her plain dark skirts brushing his boot. When she returned, she glanced at his shoulder.
"Don't get too battered in the melee. I want you fit when you come against me."
"If I can lift the shield, I shall send word."
She nodded, satisfied, and passed beneath their joined hands for the turn. Jon watched her with her next partner. There was nothing hesitant in her movements; she came back to him smiling, plainly looking forward to the bout.
The last notes found them facing one another. Her father was waiting where they had left their cups. She kept hold of Jon's hand as they went to join him.
"You've fought pirates," she said, loudly enough for Oberyn to hear. "But never a Sand Snake."
***
Oberyn smiled at his daughter's boast. Jon shook his head at her, still holding her hand as they came from the floor.
Beside Oberyn, Garlan Tyrell was promising to send Willas's notes about the mare. His father heard his brother's name and looked round.
"I shall answer them," Oberyn said. "Tell him I have not forgotten."
Garlan thanked him. Mace's mouth tightened, but Renly was beckoning from the dais, where Margaery stood with Myrcella. The Lord of Highgarden went to join them. Renly had helped obtain a ride for the girls on the morrow, though Cersei had insisted upon a septa, grooms and Alerie accompanying them. Mace had thanked her as warmly as if she had invited Margaery to stay a year. Doran would want to hear of that. Oberyn let him go. Obara had nearly reached them.
Jon released her hand carefully as she stopped beside her father.
Oberyn handed Jon his cup. "Some of the people Vhalar sold are living on your island, I hear."
"Some."
"What did they make of his pardon?"
Jon's right hand closed about the back of an empty chair. He did not pull it out.
"They did not choose it. I did." Jon paused as a woman carrying an empty platter passed between them. "I needed the fighting to end. I offered terms he would accept."
The boy had answered readily enough until he was asked about the people who must live with his bargain. Oberyn knew how much could be excused by the need to end a war.
"My brother was offered peace," he said. "After our sister was murdered. After her children—"
Robert's laughter broke across the music. A great, full laugh, followed by the slap of his palm upon the table. Mace laughed with him.
A muscle pulled beside Oberyn's mouth. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek until it eased. At the high table the king reached for more wine.
"There was much to be gained by accepting it," Oberyn continued. "No more fighting. No more dead men. Lord Tywin's friendship."
Obara had gone very still. Beside her, Jon looked towards the dais. When he turned back, his fingers were white against the chair.
"I am sorry for your sister."
"So were many people."
The boy did not lower his eyes, but he had no answer. Oberyn could have asked whether Jon would have accepted such terms for his own family. He let the question go unspoken.
Myrcella came past them with a hand upon the wooden horse's bridle. Tommen pushed with one foot, his face solemn with concentration. Oberyn moved his boot clear of the little wheels.
"Where are you riding, my prince?"
"Back to Mother." Tommen glanced up at him, then bent over the horse's neck and pushed again.
Oberyn smiled and turned to Jon. "Who carved the head? He has caught the set of the ears very well."
Jon took a moment to answer. "A carpenter on Dragonstone."
"You must give him my compliments."
"I will."
Myrcella guided the horse towards the wider aisle beside the dais. Jon watched them go.
Tommen tucked his feet up as the horse gathered speed. Oberyn remembered Rhaenys demanding a turn upon his shoulders, once, before she had learned to hide her face from strangers. He could still lift her, though she would object now. Elia would never see how tall she had grown.
"Come," he said to Obara.
She fell into step beside him. Behind them Jon had not returned to the dancing, and at the dais Robert was beginning another story.
***
Jon reached for water and found he had taken someone else's cup.
"That one is mine," Jeyne Westerling said. She moved a clean one towards him, then glanced at his shoulder. "Does it still hurt?"
"More now."
"You were smiling after Aurane struck you."
"I wasn't going to let him see how much it hurt." He poured too much. Water ran over his fingers and into the rushes. Jeyne took the jug before he could make it worse.
At the high table Robert had drawn Robb's chair closer. His brother was listening with both elbows upon the table, unaware that Jon was watching.
Jon had read about Elia and her children in another life. Tonight he had dressed Robert in red steel and waited for his approval. He needed the king's favour; he meant to use it until he could take the man's throne. That explanation would not have improved Oberyn's opinion of him, even if it could have been spoken.
Genna patted the chair beside hers. Her broad, smooth face was flushed from the heat, and she had loosened the clasp at the throat of her gown. "Come and sit with us. Emmon, there is room on your other side."
Emmon moved with his dish. Tyrion sat across from her with a cushion beneath him and a little stool under his feet. He made no remark about the water upon Jon's sleeve, though Jon saw him notice it.
Darlessa was describing the porcelain to her husband. Tygett listened until she began explaining why she wanted a second set, then put down his knife. Genna caught Jon's eye while they were occupied.
Genna took an almond cake, broke it and offered half to Tyrion. "Tywin tells me you would not have his man taught to make clocks. Do you guard your potter's work as closely?"
"She teaches the people who work for her."
"We have good potters in Lannisport. One could stay upon your island for a time. I would see to his expenses."
Jon set his cake upon the plate. Mott had refused him much the same thing, and he had not liked hearing it. "I am not taking pupils for another lord's workshops, my lady. I would rather tell you here than disappoint someone you sent all that way."
"Then it was not my brother you objected to."
"Not in that."
Genna looked at him a moment, then nodded. "I shall tell him so. He will ask how much I offered you."
"The answer would have been the same."
"I know. He will ask all the same." She brushed a crumb from her skirt. "For myself, I shall be content with the cups. Darlessa has already found three uses for a second set."
Jon took up his cake again. He would have to speak to Ellyn before an offer reached her from someone else. Genna's attention had gone to Tommen, whose bridle was caught about a stool. The boy tugged at the horse while Myrcella pulled the ribbon from the other side, tightening it between them.
"Gerion would have ridden straight through," Genna said.
"He knocked over Father's chair once," Tyrion said. "I was hiding beneath the table. I thought the whole thing was coming down."
"You were not meant to be there."
"I know."
She laughed and laid her hand over his. A woman freed the bridle; Tommen rolled away, leaving the stool upon its side. Jon had been thinking about what these people might want from him. He looked at their joined hands and remembered that a man whose name meant a lost sword to him had once made them laugh.
"There has been no further word?" he asked.
"None beyond Volantis." Tyrion turned the cake over between his fingers. "Father's men found some of the crew who would not go farther. They could not say what happened after they left him."
Jon could still see Brightroar beneath the rising water of his dream. He had captains now who might ask questions in those ports. This was neither the place to explain how he knew what to ask nor the moment to turn Gerion into another undertaking.
"I should like to hear what they did learn," he said. "When you have time."
Tyrion looked up. "I shall find it for you."
Genna kept her hand upon his a little longer. Margaery came to join the girls while Myrielle, her braid threaded with red ribbon, tried to work out the next dance from Jeyne's demonstration. Cerenna had gathered her yellow skirts clear of her slippers to show them a different step. Genna settled the argument by telling her to begin again where Jeyne could see her feet. Jon remained while they disputed which turn came first. It was a relief to have nothing useful to say.
Beyond the Westerlands tables, Theon stood with a tall knight whose long face remained grave while he listened. A silver scythe was quartered with a peacock upon his coat. Ser Harras Harlaw, if Jon remembered the arms correctly. Theon had both hands about an empty cup and was speaking without the grin he had worn through supper.
Harras bent his head to answer. Jon could hear nothing over the music. Theon glanced down at the kraken upon his belt, touched it with his thumb, then looked up and asked something else. A servant offered wine; he shook his head without turning away from the knight.
Jon watched until a pair of dancers crossed his view. When they passed, Harras had laid a hand upon Theon's shoulder. Theon nodded, still listening.
Myranda Royce came round the end of the table and touched Theon's sleeve. He turned, but before he could speak she glanced towards Harras. The knight inclined his head to her and released Theon's shoulder.
"Will you dance with me?" she asked.
Theon set down his empty cup. "Gladly." He said something more to Harras, too quietly for Jon to hear, then offered Myranda his arm. She led him towards the forming line. He looked back once; when she spoke again, he bent to hear her.
Desmera Redwyne came for her cousin's opinion of the dance. She had a little golden grape caught in the embroidered cuff of her sleeve. Margaery freed it while Desmera asked Jon whether he could manage another dance.
"I am trying to remember this one."
"Then you may learn with me." She offered her hand before Cerenna could demonstrate again.
Horas stood beside the water with two cups. He held one towards Margaery; she was listening to Desmera and did not notice until he spoke her name. She thanked him and set it down, turning back to the others.
Horas looked at Desmera's hand upon Jon's arm. "A Redwyne is taught to fight from childhood, Black. You will find me rather different from your pirates."
Jon rose carefully. "I watched you fight this afternoon."
"We were going to dance, Horas," Desmera said.
Horas's mouth tightened. He looked past Jon towards the tables.
"Father wants you, Desmera."
She turned to look. Paxter stood with Monford at the end of the Crownlanders' table, his head bent to hear him over the music. Neither man was looking their way.
"What does he want?"
"He did not say." Horas moved aside, leaving her a way past him.
Desmera watched her father for another moment. Monford said something that made him smile; Paxter set down his cup and began to answer.
"I will speak to him after the dance."
"He asked for you."
"Then tell him where I am." She turned back to Jon, her hand still resting upon his arm. "Shall we?"
Jon offered his hand, and she took it. Horas remained beside the water as they found a place among the other dancers. Nearby, Roslin Frey was introducing a dark-haired girl to Robb. Little ravens were sewn upon her red sleeves; a black ribbon held her hair clear of a face still warm from dancing.
"Lady Betha Blackwood," Roslin said. She gave her friend a quick smile and left them together.
"I watched your first bout this afternoon," Betha told him. "I thought your brother had stopped your sword, and then you struck his arm."
Robb's hand went to the fastening at his collar. "I changed the cut. He had seen the other one too often."
She smiled. "Will you dance with me, Lord Robb?"
"Yes, my lady." He offered his hand at once. As Betha drew him towards a gap in the line, Robb turned back to Jon with a shy smile. Jon smiled back.
"Lord Tytos's cousin," Desmera murmured. "She asked Roslin to bring her over."
The music began before they could say more. Betha settled beside Robb in the line and spoke close to him; he listened with his head bent, then followed her into the first turn. Farther along, Myranda was laughing as Theon turned with her. He had found his grin again. They moved easily together, and when the line separated them she reached back for his hand before the next crossing brought them close.
Desmera waited until she had Jon's attention again. "I wanted to ask about the flowers."
For a moment he could think only of the cups. She shook her head when he began to answer.
"Real ones. What grows near your castle?"
He tried to remember what he had seen on his walks rather than what he had ordered planted. Grass in cracks, a little white flower beside a wall, coarse yellow blooms leaning away from the wind. He did not know the names. Desmera listened with increasing amusement.
"You could have invented something splendid. I have never been there."
"You might ask to see it."
"I should." The line took her away before she could say more. When she returned, she told him she painted the flowers at the Arbor. Her mother approved of the petals and corrected the leaves, even when Desmera had not asked her to look. "I have a drawing I should like your potter to see."
"Send it. I should like to see it too."
She smiled, then caught his sleeve as the dancers closed too quickly. They had to wait while the couple ahead of them found their places. Desmera used the pause to point out Betha, who was explaining something to Robb with both hands while he tried to follow.
Margaery waited with water when they came back. She gave the first cup to Desmera and asked whether she had found out what she wanted. Their exchange told Jon that the question had been considered before either girl approached him. Desmera began to describe the unnamed yellow flowers; Margaery offered two possibilities and was no nearer an answer when Garlan came to fetch his sister.
"Mother asks whether you have finished dancing."
"One more," Margaery said. She looked at Jon. "Unless you have promised it already."
He had not. She gave Garlan her cup and took his hand before her brother could decide whether he had been given an answer to carry back.
Renly watched them from beside Alerie. Loras had brought Myrcella to his mother to ask about the ride they had arranged for the next day; Cersei was listening from the dais, with Jaime standing close enough to hear what was promised. Jon knew some of the uses Renly had once imagined for his friend's sister. He could not yet tell how much of tonight's attention came from that purpose. Margaery, at least, had asked for this dance herself.
Margaery looked up at him as the first turn brought them close.
"You free slaves, make those lovely cups, and fight pirates," she said. "What else do you do for fun?"
Jon laughed. "I read. Mostly stories about long journeys. I used to stay up until it was almost morning."
He still read late, but there was usually a sum to check or a decision waiting at the end of it. He could not remember when he had last read simply because he wanted to know what happened.
"Elinor and I have a place in the garden where we take ours," Margaery said when the dance brought them together again. "You can hear people coming along the path before they can see you."
"Does that give you time to hide the book?"
"Sometimes. Mother had sent for us once, and we kept saying we would come when we had finished the page. There was a woman trying to escape, and we had to know whether she managed it."
"Did she?"
"Yes, but Elinor read the ending before I did. She kept trying to turn the page."
Her laughter upset the next step. He steadied her, aware that she was still holding his fingers when she had recovered.
"What was she escaping from?" he asked.
"Her uncle had shut her away. There was a man who meant to come for her, but she did not know what had become of him. Elinor wanted her to wait."
"And you?"
"I wanted her out of the tower. She had already spent half the book looking through the same window." Margaery glanced towards her cousin, who was dancing with Andren. "We argued about it all the way back to the house."
Jon took her hand again as the line brought them together. "I think I should have gone looking for him."
"You would have missed him. He was coming by another road."
"Did you still want them to find each other?"
"Very much. He had been trying to reach her all that time." Her voice softened a little. "But I wanted her to do something besides wait."
Jon smiled. "Then I had better read it."
"I could lend it to you," she said. "I brought it with me."
"I should like that."
On the next turn he saw Alerie watching. Margaery saw her too and smiled at her mother before returning her attention to him. Jon began a question, caught Alerie's eye again, and forgot how he meant to finish it.
"What were you going to ask?"
"When I might collect the book."
"I will have Elinor find it." Her hand settled more comfortably in his. "Ask me tomorrow."
The music ended with her hand still in his. Garlan was waiting, but Margaery stayed to ask where Jon would stand in the melee, then said she would know where to look. He watched her go until she looked back and caught him at it.
Robb found him beside the abandoned benches. Betha had gone to Roslin for water, but she kept glancing back towards him. Theon returned from leaving Myranda with her companions and asked whether Robb meant to dance again. Robb glanced towards Betha before answering, which was answer enough for Theon. Before he could pursue it, Robb began the story the king had told about Ned's lost boot. Wendel brought his cup to hear, and Aurane insisted upon knowing why Ned had been in the bush in the first place.
Robert supplied that detail from the dais, loudly and to Robb's delight. Jon laughed with the others, a little late.
He had considered armies, claims, which lords would yield and which must be beaten. His brother stood before him with a part of their father's youth no letter could have given him, impatient to hear more. Jon had not spent enough time imagining what it would mean to tell Robb that this man must lose his throne.
He had always pictured Robb beside him when the time came. Now he watched his brother lean forward as Robert resumed, eager not to miss a word, and felt how much he had been taking for granted. He would have to tell Robb who he was and what he meant to do. He would have to ask. Jon hoped his brother would choose him; he was afraid to think what he would do if Robb refused.
Betha returned before the story was done and stood beside Robb to listen. When the others began disputing where Ned could have lost the boot, she touched his sleeve.
"Have you promised the next dance?"
"No." Robb was already getting up. "I had hoped you would come back."
She looked pleased by the answer. "I wanted to ask whether you were going on the hunt."
"The king asked me. Will you be there?"
"If my cousin allows it. I shall ask him tonight." She put her hand into Robb's and waited while he made his way round the bench. He scarcely looked at Theon as they went back to the floor.
Jon remained upon the bench until Wynafryd offered to help him escape. They kept to a slower dance. She kept his hand low, sparing the shoulder, while Wylla Manderly corrected Aries through the turns nearby. He was listening to her as gravely as he listened to a master-at-arms.
By the time Jon and Wynafryd stopped, candles had burned into uneven pools along the tables. Tommen slept against Cersei with one hand closed upon her gown. Myrcella leaned over to show him something, discovered he would not wake, and carefully tucked his dangling foot back onto the chair.
For a moment there was a small head beneath his chin, fingers caught in his shirt. He remembered shifting that sleeping weight, careful not to wake whoever he held. There had been a voice beside him, low and amused. He could almost hear it beneath the music.
He tried to hold on to it. A chair scraped nearby, and he was standing in the hall with his arms empty.
"Jon?"
Wynafryd was watching him. Her smile had gone. He realised he was gripping her hand and loosened his fingers.
"Forgive me."
"Are you unwell?"
He shook his head. The answer he wanted to give would not come. His throat hurt; he swallowed and looked away from the sleeping boy.
"Only tired," he said, managing a weak smile.
Her eyes went to Tommen, then back to him. She did not look convinced, but she let him lead her towards her father.
Wylis rose as they approached. Jon thanked Wynafryd for the dance and released her hand. She stayed beside her father, watching as Jon returned to his place at the table.
He sat down and drew a cup of water towards him. Most of the nearby chairs were empty. Farther along the hall, Lady Tanda was speaking to Marrec, his steward, who had his tablets out to record what linen she could send. Jon drank slowly. By the time he lowered the cup, his hand was steady.
Guncer stopped beside Jon's table with a man in cream wool. A seven-pointed star hung upon the stranger's breast. He waited a pace behind the lord of Sweetport Sound.
"May we speak with you, my lord?"
Jon set down his cup. "Of course."
"This is Septon Halwin, one of the Most Devout. His High Holiness sent him to speak with you about the schools. He asked whether I might introduce him."
The septon bowed.
"His High Holiness told me to expect you," Jon said. He invited them to sit, and Guncer drew out the chair beside him. Halwin took the one opposite.
"There are two women who could come," the septon said. "Both have cared for children whose families are gone. One teaches letters. Lord Guncer tells me you have need of both."
"We do."
"I can give them passage," Guncer added. "Lady Tanda's linen can go in the same ship. There is room."
Jon looked at the old lord. "You have my thanks for that. But I agreed to no house governed by the Faith."
"I know, my lord." Guncer laid his hands upon the table. A moonstone caught the candlelight at his wrist. "I thought, if you heard what was needed, it might not seem so great a demand. There are children among them who have no one to teach them their prayers."
Halwin inclined his head. "The women would need lodging, and a room for their lessons. Somewhere to pray. It need not be a costly undertaking."
"Who would appoint the person in charge?"
"The Faith would choose a keeper. Someone accustomed to the work."
"And the teachers?"
"They would answer to the keeper. He would answer for them to us." Halwin rested his hands within his sleeves. "You would be welcome to see their work whenever you wished, my lord."
Jon could picture the house well enough: lessons, meals, women who knew a child's name and noticed when he was ill. In time the families would turn to its keeper with their troubles. The High Septon did not need Jon to kneel before him to gain a place in their lives.
He wanted those families safe and settled. He also wanted them to remember who had brought them there. He had chosen to build his future among them, and had no intention of giving the Faith the authority that went with caring for them.
"I will pay the teachers at my school and appoint those who oversee them," he said. "These women may take places there if they wish. They would answer to my steward."
Guncer's fingers moved against one another. "They would still be women of the Faith."
"Yes. I have asked no one to forsake it."
"Nor could they," Halwin said. "Their obligations are not mine to set aside."
"Then tell me which obligation prevents them from teaching in my service."
The septon glanced at Guncer before answering. "They have been offered for a house under our care. I cannot send them elsewhere upon terms I have not been given leave to accept."
"Then you must ask."
The music rose behind them. Halwin waited for it to soften before speaking again.
"I will carry your answer to His High Holiness."
"Please do."
The septon rose. Guncer made as though to follow, but Jon rested a hand beside his upon the table.
"A moment, Lord Guncer."
Guncer settled back into his chair. Halwin bowed to them both and withdrew among the guests leaving the hall.
For a little while Guncer watched him go. "I hoped this would please you, my lord."
"I know."
"The women do good work. I would not have brought him if I thought otherwise."
"I do not doubt their kindness." Jon turned the cup between his hands. "I cannot accept the terms."
Guncer looked down at the moonstone upon his wrist. Jon remembered reading what the man's devotion would cost him in another life. Here he sat beside his lord, disappointed by a refusal he did not understand. His faith was no pretence, and Jon could find no comfort in treating it as one.
"I ask nothing that would prevent you from worshipping," Jon said more quietly.
"I had hoped to do more than worship."
Jon stopped turning the cup. There had been no rebuke in the old lord's voice. He had offered a ship, his time, and people he believed could help.
"The linen will still need passage," Jon said. "And I would be glad of your help finding teachers who can accept my terms."
Guncer nodded after a moment. "I will speak to your steward about the ship, my lord."
He rose and bowed. Jon thanked him again before he left. He watched him cross the hall towards Marrec and Lady Tanda.
Across the hall the last dancers were arguing with the fiddlers for another tune. Jon searched for Robb among them. He wanted his chambers, the names he must set down, an hour in which nobody would ask him for anything.
Gawen came up beside him.
"There is someone waiting for you outside, my lord."
He leaned closer at Jon's look. "Hal. He came to the chambers and would not give his news to anyone else."
Jon saw the boy beyond the doors, his cap pressed flat between his hands. A household guard stood with him. Hal's face was streaked with the dirt he had tried to wipe away.
The wish for a quiet hour was gone.
Jon sent Gawen to fetch Arthur. He had turned towards the doors when Robb came up beside him, having left Betha with her companions.
"Who is that?"
"Hal. The boy who brought word of the fighting pitts."
Robb looked from him to the waiting child. "Is there another?"
"I have not heard him yet."
"Then I will hear him with you."
Jon began to object. Robb's expression hardened before he had a word out.
"You can ask me to wait here. I shall wait, and tomorrow you will tell me what you did after everyone went to bed. I had enough of that with the pirates."
"I am not taking you into a fight."
"I am asking to listen." He glanced towards Hal. "And if there is something I can do, I want you to ask me."
Martyn was already coming towards them. Jon remembered his promise to Catelyn, then the way she had looked when he made it. She had known her son. Robb would follow danger eagerly enough without Jon making exclusion into a challenge.
"Come, then. Martyn too."
Arthur joined them at the doors. He took one look at Hal and asked no question in the hearing of the hall. As they left, Robert's voice rose above the music, calling for a song he remembered. Robb looked back once before following Jon.