“A good match, if the Merman Lord accepts.” “Indeed.” Karlon answered, “Ned thinks it’s a good idea, and I agree.
I’ve plans to ask for some shipwrights to move to Greypool from White Harbor as part of the dowry.
White Harbor has the best of them in the North.” Karlon paused as they turned a corner in the corridor, “Having a dozen of them in Greypool in the following year will help our efforts.
I’ve plans for a new kind of ship that can change the game.
We certainly won’t be Braavos and their famed Arsenal as of yet, able to churn out a warship a day, but it’ll be a start.
” “Big ambitions,” Jorah chuckled.
“I’ll be happy enough to have Bear Island share a bit of that wealth when the time comes, Karlon.” They were walking the halls of the Great Keep, servants running to and fro as they busied themselves for the day.
A few guards were visible lining the walls, especially since Ned had tightened the security following the King’s visit.
This was still the bones of it, even.
By the time the Royal Family got here, Winterfell would be a fortress.
“And you?” he asked Jorah.
“Getting any ideas of your own?” “Leyton is still young.” Jorah shook his head, “I won’t have to think of betrothals for a long while yet.
And besides, Lynesse is better at that sort of thing than me.” “You think she’s aiming for a southern marriage?” Karlon raised an eyebrow.
Jorah shrugged.
“She’s suggested it.
Ideally, to one of the coastal lords on the west to increase more trade.
Many of the Reach Lords would consider it, since he’s my heir and grandson to the Lord Hightower besides.” “She’s not wrong,” Karlon said.
“The Hightower name does more work than the Mormont one, south of the Neck.” “Don’t tell Maege that.” “I wouldn’t dare.” They came out onto the covered walkway that ran between the Great Keep and the guest house, and the training yard opened below them.
The cold air came in from the sides, carrying the sounds up more clearly now.
Wood cracked against wood as Jory Cassel’s voice shouted into the air.
On the yard below, the four boys, Jon, Torrhen, Robb, and Theon were going against both Jory Cassel and Ser Egran.
Robb and Jon were on the far side, working together with the ease of boys who grew up together and trained together.
Torrhen Karstark pressed from the left while the Greyjoy heir flanked from the right.
“That reminds me,” Karlon said, watching the yard.
“What did you find out about him?” Jorah leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, watching the same scene.
“Theon Greyjoy is very much a young man with all the bashfulness and lust that comes at that age.
Rickard Liddle stopped by one of the whorehouses in Wintertown and met a girl called Ros, who spoke of many stories about the Greyjoy heir.
The sort of stories you’d expect.” “So just about like any other Ironborn, eh?
Fancy making them his salt-wife?” “In that particular regard, aye.” Jorah shook his head.
“But Egran spoke with three of the household guard as well, separately.
It’s a little more complicated than that.” Karlon turned, raising a brow as Jorah continued.
“He has some semblance of honor, according to the guardsmen.
Your brother’s influence, no doubt.
And the friendship he’s formed with your nephew seems to be genuine.” He watched the yard for a moment.
“In seven years, not one letter came from Pyke.
Not from Balon, nor from his sister or uncles.
And Theon has not written anything back either.
” Karlon hummed at that.
What went on in Balon Greyjoy’s mind, he had no idea.
Ignoring his heir and simply leaving him here in the North?
Did he have plans to disinherit the boy?
Below in the yard, Karlon watched as Ser Egran feinted left, drew Robb’s parry, and smacked him in the side with the flat of the wooden blade.
The training sword fell from Robb’s hand and rattled across the ground.
Egran was about to do a finishing blow towards Robb, only for Theon to parry the blow and begin engaging the captain to buy Robb some time to recover.
It didn’t really work, since Egran managed to disarm Theon in less than three moves and his boot connected with the boy’s chest in the same motion, and Theon went down.
On the other side, Jory remained vigil as he fought and defended Egran’s back from Jon and Torrhen’s constant attack.
“Not bad,” Karlon noted.
Though despite being older than the others by at least four years, Theon Greyjoy’s sword arm was sorely lacking, but Karlon wouldn’t deny that the boy made for a fearsome archer.
The fact that he challenged Egran to cover for Robb earned him a point of contention within Karlon’s mind.
It wasn’t a comfort though.
Theon Greyjoy was still the son of Balon Greyjoy, and the look he had given Karlon in the courtyard three days ago was not the look of a man who had let things go.
“Keep watching him,” he said.
“Aye,” Jorah said.
Below them, all four were back on their feet.
Jory called something that Karlon could not make out from the walkway, and they reset, and began again.
… 2nd day of the 4th Moon, Year 298 ACRobb Stark Feeling himself get smacked upon the head by the pommel of a training sword, Robb hit the dirt as a groan of pain erupted from his mouth.
Beside him, three separate thuds in quick succession said his companions had reached similar conclusions about the exercise.
“Congratulations, my lords.” Jory said.
“You lasted a minute longer that time, your teamwork is shaping up.” Looking back up at him, both Jory and Ser Egran looked no worse for wear despite being surrounded two to one.
All four of them, Robb, Jon, Theon, and Torrhen had given everything they had, to no avail.
‘I guess that makes sense,’ Robb mused, swallowing the bitter feeling of loss as he got back up and put away the training sword, ‘Jory and Egran are captains of the guard for their respective keeps.
They’re probably the best swords the North could offer.’ He could at least take solace in the fact that he managed a few victories with some of the senior guardsmen just earlier in the day.
He was improving.
He simply was not yet improving fast enough to trouble the men who had been doing this for twenty years, and were bloodied in war besides.
Around them, the yard was as busy as it had been in the past moon, since his father had doubled the guards and hired more men-at-arms from the surrounding lands of Winterfell.
The new men were at the far end, working through their forms.
Second and third sons, cousins and uncles of farmers, cobblers, merchants, and craftsmen who had decided that a sword and a lord’s service was a better future, since they were the ones who would inherit nothing from their fathers.
Most were scarcely older than Robb.
When they first arrived, they had barely known the sharp end of a sword.
But after over a month of practice under Ser Rodrik, they were shaping up to be quite the force.
When Robb eventually takes up the Lordship of Winterfell, these men would be the ones serving as the elite men-at-arms of the North, the men who would serve him when the time came, which was why he endeavoured to train with them and get to know them, as taught by his father.
Torrhen appeared at Jon’s shoulder while Robb was still deep in thought, pulling off his practice gloves.
“I heard that you were to be fostered in Frostkeep, Jon.
Along with Lord Bran.
Is it true?” Jon frowned, “I haven’t heard anything from Lord Stark.” “It may be nothing yet,” Robb intervened.
“But father and uncle are talking about it.” Jon was quiet for a moment, before turning to Torrhen.
“What’s it like?
Frostkeep, I mean.” Torrhen considered the question with a tilt of his head.
“Cold, colder than Winterfell at least since the sea brings in the winds of the Bay of Ice.
But–” He paused, and something in his expression shifted into something genuine.
“Lord Karlon runs a tight keep.
Tighter than most, I think.
Everything has a purpose and a place and you learn both quickly.” “What do you mean?” Jon questioned.
“Lord Karlon is a good lord and a finer sailor.
I’ve seen it myself whenever I was allowed with him atop the Frostfang.
That was the first time I got on a proper ship.
Couldn’t stop myself from being sick for the first week.” Torrhen laughed without shame.
“Everyone does really.
Then something changes and it never bothers you again.” “What do you do all day?” Robb asked.
“Train and practice, mostly.
Same as here, but they add seamanship alongside it; how to read a current, how to tie a proper knot and why the wrong one kills you, how to manage a sail in a crosswind.” He paused again.
“And Lord Karlon teaches himself, sometimes, when he decides you’re ready for it.
Sailing, he mostly leaves to the captains.
It’s the other things he focuses on; how to read a ship’s ledger, how to manage a tight crew, how to plan and map out a voyage.
Things you would need to become a captain of your own ship.
Everyone listens to him, he leads the finest fleet in the North after all.” From nearby, Theon snorted, having been listening in.
“The finest fleet in the North,” he said, a twinge of mockery in his tone, “Put them against the Iron Fleet and we’ll see how fine they are.” “The failed rebellion already proved that, Greyjoy.” Torrhen remarked, earning a glare from Theon.
“Peace, you two.” Robb said, choosing to intervene before they come to blows.
Torrhen received this with a slight nod, while Theon scoffed, and began to collect his practice equipment before walking away.
“Where are you going?” Robb asked.
“Wintertown,” Theon said, “I need some rest after that beating, not to mention a proper drink.
If you know what I mean.” The smirk that followed said exactly what kind of rest he had in mind, and Robb needed no further elaboration as Robb watched him go.
“Prick.” Torrhen muttered in his breath that Robb pretended to not hear before turning to both Robb and Jon.
“Lord Robb, Jon.
Lord Karlon still has duties for me later in the evening.
I bid you good day.” He gave them a wave that managed to combine informality and courtesy in the way only northern men achieved it and rushed off.
Robb looked at Jon.
“Bath?” “Gods, yes,” Jon said.
Check it out if you’re interested, at least chapter 13 (long form, which is around chp 24 in webnovel) should be available by the time this chapter was uploaded.
Next chapter will be out in a few hours.