You reflect, as the ship begins to pull away from the docks, that it is an interesting bunch that have joined you on the Royal Vagabond, although perhaps not surprising in retrospect.
Dany had asked to come as soon as she realised she would be able to with the lull in the Trials, and you could not deny her the chance to see where she was born and where your family comes from … or to help you lay the last of your mother to rest.
Willas had approached you hesitantly the next day, asking if you would permit his company on your travels, as he hopes to improve relations between your houses, and you were only too happy to bring him along in that case. In a sarcastic thought you later express to Prince Oberyn, you're sure it has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with Dany, isolated from any other would-be suitors.
It's at that point that Oberyn more or less invited himself along. He pointed out that he has maintained a long correspondence with the heir to Highgarden, and could help if things became uncomfortable or awkward. And if things go well, he added, it has been some time since his last opportunity to casually threaten someone wooing a family member to ensure good behaviour. You'd rather he didn't ruin a cordial relationship with Willas over a moment of petty self-amusement, but you won't deny him either.
At the end of the day, you really have Oberyn come along because you know that Mace Tyrell is going to lose hair and sleep thinking of his firstborn son on a ship with you and Dany, and Oberyn is the only other person in Westeros who could worsen the effect on the fat flower.
You never bothered to pretend that you were above petty self-amusement.
It is late afternoon when you gather your companions to have an early supper. The last glimpses of King's Landing have since dipped below the horizon, and nothing but clouds can attempt to block the setting sun from coming in your windows. It's your cabin, the most spacious and well appointed, that strikes you as the most comfortable place for you to gather everyone; the wardroom would do fine for officers of the vessel, but you want your companions to have elbow room. Food is brought, wine is poured and your table set, and soon enough your friends arrive.
Ser Barristan appreciates your generosity when you ask him to join you, but he insists that he'll eat later, as he's never cared for sailing and prefers to eat lightly and infrequently if onboard. So Ser Barristan stands at guard, allowing young Ser Asher to join your table, where he sits quietly but firmly next to Dany, blocking the captain from taking that seat. You sit on her other side, Oberyn next to you and the captain sitting closer to Oberyn than Ser Asher (perhaps he mistakenly thinks Oberyn to be the friendlier option). That leaves space for the Grand Maester, who arrives with his own bottle of wine to offer for later, and the last of the party, poor Willas Tyrell.
As it turns out, Willas is the only one of your group liable to seasickness, and if it weren't so plainly interfering in his designs to be charming and attractive to Dany, you'd probably sympathise. Instead, you share a vanishingly fast smirk with Oberyn when the young man walks in, no longer as green as his family sigil, but closer than a person ought to be. You admit to yourself, however, that you're impressed at how well he moves around despite having no stomach for the sea and a leg that you'd imagined would likewise disagree.
Then Dany stands up and goes around Ser Asher to pull the chair out for Willas, and you're reminded why people like her more easily than you.
He makes no comment at the gesture, but you have sharper eyes than the average person, and you catch the warm look he gives her as she passes back to her seat at your right side, and the hint of pink on her cheeks once she's beyond his sight. In the corner of your eye, it looks like the captain might be inclined to offer a comment of his own, so you immediately raise a cup and give an expectant look across the table, as everyone else catches the cue very quickly. It seems he thinks better of it, and crumples slightly as he raises his cup as well.
"To a safe voyage in fine company and fair seas," you offer. Pithy, but appropriate. A murmur goes about the table as they join you in the toast, and drink.
You immediately glance to Willas and Ser Asher, as you recognise the wine as a Dornish red. A respectable vintage, to your palate, but richer and much darker than what either of them would be used to, and you just know this was another of Oberyn's little tests. To their credit, the only reaction you notice is a twitch from Ser Asher, and nothing further. Dany has a similar reaction, though you imagine spending time in Dorne helped make the wine less potent to her.
"A fine vintage, Your Grace," Willas offers. "One of yours?"
"One of mine," Oberyn answers.
Asher looks to his wine with an openly sceptical look, as if it might bite him now that its master is revealed. Not the most unreasonable of suspicions, you feel. Then he shrugs and downs the rest of it.
Willas turns slightly more towards Oberyn, as if nothing had happened next to him. "Ah, one from your collection, or one of your own making?"
"The latter," Oberyn smiles. Subtly, so much so that no one but Dany notices, you now glance to your cup with a sceptical eye.
Willas leans forward a bit, seeming to improve with a distraction from the motion of the ship. "I confess I'm fascinated by the process, the incredible differences even the slightest alteration can make farther down the line. The choice of barrel, for instance. Many of our bannermen rely on oak barrels to age their wines, but even an oak from a different forest than they usually source to can change the palate." He looks to his cup, then back to Oberyn. "What barrels do you use, my friend?"
"Snakewood," he answers without a hint of irony.
Across the table from you, Willas turns slightly pale. Doing your best to suppress a laugh, Dany speaks up instead of you. "You must be japing, Prince Oberyn."
"I am most certainly not." There's a twinkle in his eye that you know to mean trouble.
Jacaerys clears his throat. "Do you age it long in your barrels?"
"Oh, no," Oberyn answers breezily, and you see Dany unwind a little next to you. "This wine ages only two weeks in snakewood, just to take up some flavour, then the rest in red oaks." You see Willas and Jace unwind a bit, too, and feel like there's something you're missing.
Ser Asher pipes up. "Is there a reason that matters, Ser Oberyn?"
A shadow crosses over his face from the late-day sun dancing over the window frames. "I assure you," the Red Viper says, "the wine that ages fully in snakewood is not one I would bring casually. It stays in reserve for special occasions."
You make a note to yourself to ask Dany, when you can get a moment, what had her worried. It's at that point you notice that apparently she and Willas had both noticed the other's concern and relief, the two of them exchanging glances that don't seem romantic, but nonetheless have an understanding you aren't privy to.
You don't like it when that happens.
Taking a leaf from Ser Asher's book, you finish your cup and pointedly ignore the look that Dany directs at you.
The tension does not diminish throughout the meal, though it does fade into the background. Some more polite chatter is exchanged between Oberyn and Willas about horses, which Dany takes some part in, though mostly in asking questions and listening politely (and you note, very attentively) to the answers. Asher and Oberyn debate the merits of various weapon choices and combat philosophies, which steadily devolves into ever-less-subtle puns about skill, stamina and virility, and more than once you have to remind yourself that you are the king, and not supposed to try and one-up their wordplay to see who you can make snort their wine.
Grand Maester Jacaerys chats up the captain, Allard Seaworth. He's very amused by the origin story of the sigil of House Seaworth, and this quickly develops into a table-wide discussion on sigils. You stay out of it for a little bit, as you don't quite trust yourself to not make uncomfortable observations.
Since retaking the Throne, you've provided for all your Kingsguard a minor update to their armor: they retain their white scales and unadorned shields, but you now permit for them to wear pauldrons over their white cloaks, the right shoulder bearing the Kingsguard standard, the left their personal or family sigil if they desire it. All seven of them have done so (and you think that it probably helped sell the deception Jaime masterminded to pose as Ser Asher when riding out with Ser Brynden). It has not escaped your notice that Ser Asher wears a black tree embedded with a white sword, an inversion of his family's traditional arms. To your knowledge, no one has asked him about it yet.
Then Willas opens his mouth.
"Are heraldry standards different in the North, Ser Asher?" he asks amiably. "I confess that I know very little about how Northern culture interacts with Andal traditions, like knights and so forth. I've never been able to visit, nor do I have any family members that have, so my sources for information are limited."
"Precious few flowers in the North, my lord," Asher says with what sounds like a friendly tone … but you notice his knuckles look a bit whiter around his cup. "Delicate things don't do well in the cold. What does endure with us," he breathes, "only does by adapting." His air comes short, like it's being held close on a tight chain.
"I'm sure that tends to be the case," Willas answers mildly. "On the other hand, some hardier things from the North flourish south of the Neck. The change in climate and surroundings lets them grow beyond what they could be in their homelands." You notice that his timbre is lower and his speech more relaxed in pace, and only just suppress the urge to slap your forehead.
Willas is a smart man, certainly one of the most knowledgeable you've met in your age group. You think he easily could net himself a chain to surpass Oberyn's, if his father would ever allow for him to follow a path that bore the slightest resemblance to that of the Red Viper. You also know that he is especially knowledgeable about horses, and even in his condition has taken a direct hand in the care, training and maintaining of the Highgarden stable.
So it probably shouldn't surprise you that his method of responding to hostility seems borne from that. It's still quite something to see in person, though. It's even more surprising that it looks like it might work: Asher's knuckles regain some colour, and his breathing is starting to even out a bit more.
Perhaps it's only fitting that now you discover that Allard Seaworth has all of his father's seafaring skills, and none of his sense of tact. "The Blackfish wears a different sigil to his family, too, doesn't he? Past the Mander, m'lord, sometimes men go their own way." You regret not sitting him closer to you, that you might have the ability to kick him under the table. A hope lingers briefly in you that Oberyn might do it for you, but one glance at the Red Viper tells you that he's being amused by the whole thing and isn't liable to put a stop to any of it.
It isn't often, but every once in a while you regret having so many friends and allies that are just like you.
"Aye, and sometimes you're pushed off the boat to sink or swim on your own," Ser Asher says in a waspish voice.
"Best way to learn to swim, ser," Allard smiles. "M'lord father taught me and my brother just so."
"How wonderful for you." Asher's deadpan is impressive, even if it's completely lost on Allard.
"I had only wondered if, perhaps," Willas tries placidly, "men of the North hold a different meaning to what inverse arms mean to Andals."
Asher says only "Nope," and then takes a long, long pull from his cup.
"I see," the heir to Highgarden says, a little lower and slower.
Allard blinks. "I don't think I do."
"Young man," the Grand Maester places a hand on young Seaworth's shoulder, "your mouth keeps opening. You might look to that."
"Aye, m'lord," the captain says with a little bit of strain in his voice. A look in that direction confirms to you that Asher's aren't the only white knuckles at the table.
"Can you tell us anything about your arms, Grand Maester?" Dany says, as if she's only just entered the room and is aware of none of the tension. "Before you swore your oaths, I mean to say."
"Alas, Your Grace," he offers her a rueful smile and casually lifts his hand from Seaworth's shoulder, "arms are put aside along with family names when our oaths are sworn. My sigil is links of knowledge," he runs a finger across his chain, "my brothers the men who forge them. I know some of them claim to forswear their family names yet keep their loyalties all the same, but I should be a poor Grand Maester indeed if I number myself among them."
Daenerys nods, unoffended. You see she has a contemplative look to her. "The Faithful do the same, yes, forswearing families and titles to their calling?" There's a sense of building to something about her.
Jace gives her a crooked smile. "They certainly say so, Your Grace."
There isn't a moment of pause before she springs her true query. "Is there a reason we do not see the same in the Night's Watch or the Kingsguard?"
A finger twists in Jacaerys' chain as he thinks at that. Eventually, he says, "I can't say I know a reason, Your Grace. I have a few ideas, but they are only thoughts, not proven truths."
"Proven or not, I imagine your thoughts are rather better informed than most," you smirk before leaning towards him a little. "Please, Grand Maester, I'd hear your theories."
"Well," he finishes his wine, then wipes idly at his mouth, a display of gathering thoughts or stalling for time? You're unsure which. "I believe that, while men of the Watch take similar oaths to us of forgoing titles, lands, wives and children, there is a difference between us. My order serves the realm, a duty greater than any one family. Now, many within the Night's Watch have families, siblings, parents." He folds his hands in his lap. "They, too, serve the realm, but stand in defence of it, or so they say. I imagine it might help, sometimes, standing in the cold and the dark and in the company of undesirable men, to have names and faces to think of defending, rather than something as intangible as 'the realm'. As to knights of the Kingsguard, well," he smiles politely at Ser Asher, "their service is to one family, one man if we are unforgiving in our reading of their oath – not the realm, certainly not the gods. And to get there, men gather honour and glory to their name. It might," his smile returns to Dany, "be understandably difficult to ask them to forswear the name they've worked to elevate."
Willas looks put off a bit. "Knights swear oaths of service before the gods, Grand Maester, to serve them and the realm, not to glorify themselves."
"Yet how often they seek the latter and not the former," Oberyn offers dryly.
"It's only my private observations, Lord Willas," Jace pours more wine into his cup, "not a statement on the institution."
Dany looks to Willas, an odd expression on her face. "My lord, you've spent the past several weeks sitting in judgment of many men who swore such oaths. Do you truly believe that all who make them hold those oaths to be unbreakable?"
"Or that such oaths might not embolden men to act in those ways?" You add, taking the decanter passed to you from Jace and refilling your own cup.
The Tyrell heir seems to have moved past 'put off' and makes for 'unsettled', with 'distraught' in sighting distance from there. "The oaths of knighthood, of chivalry, my lords, are born of righteousness and set in godly justice. What ill can come from this?"
"I have travelled across much of the world, my lord," the Grand Maester murmurs, "seen and learned many things. And I have seen as much misery brought from them who feel righteous, or look to justify themselves, as them who set out to do harm."
And it is in that moment that the servants bring in desserts, and the topic is dropped. Honeyfingers and apple tarts are handed out, and most everyone seems to relish the opportunity to leave the conversation behind to focus on these delicacies. Most everyone, you think as you glance once more to Oberyn, reclining back in his chair with the lazy grin of a cat that had a canary fly directly into his dish.
Sometimes, when you're feeding and playing with the children, you've heard Tyene refer to Aemon as a 'chaos grumkin' with a smile of fond exasperation after some of his more clever tricks that result in the adults wearing more of his food than he has eaten. As you nibble at your apple tart, you wonder if chaos grumkin might not be better applied to Aemon's great-uncle.
Dinner was a bit more tense than you had hoped, but the evening isn't quite over yet, and you have a few days yet before arriving on Dragonstone, so this won't be the running theme of the trip. You hope. Enough time has passed that your table has been cleaned up, your companions have been able to do the same, and everyone is feeling (hopefully) a bit more settled in. You open the door to your quarters, and Ser Asher is there, ready to bring you anyone you ask for.
You'd like to meet with one of your companions tonight. Who is it?
[ ] Jacaerys. The Grand Maester has been meaning to teach you about the higher mysteries. There is much to learn, and he has intimated that the privacy of a ship is well-suited for the beginnings of such an endeavour.
[ ] Oberyn. The Red Viper has seemed, well, a little more ornery of late. Maybe an evening to unwind is what he (and you) could use … and you could get to the cause, if Oberyn knows of it. And there is the question of that 'snakewood' exchange…
[ ] Daenerys. Your sister had good insights at dinner, and you are well-known for liking to hear smart people talk. You also could prod her a bit about Lord Willas, if you were so inclined – as Oberyn tells you, it's what brothers are for.
[ ] Asher. The youngest of your Kingsguard is perhaps the one you know the least. You could try to change that with this trip, and see if there's something more than a loyal knight (and Beshka's bar-brawl buddy) to know.
It is a three-day journey to Dragonstone, so you have two more days and nights after this one. You won't necessarily lose the opportunity to speak to someone, but tonight it is these folks who are most present in the forefront of your mind. Willas would be, as well, but after the whirlwind that was dinner you think he deserves some comfort and contemplation.
