The King of Winters

Chapter 54

Jaehaerys

The courtyard rang to the song of swords.

Under black wool, boiled leather, and mail, sweat trickled icily down Jaehaerys's chest as he pressed the attack. Quid stumbled backward, defending himself clumsily. When he raised his sword, Jaehaerys went underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of the other boy's leg and sent him staggering. Buck's downcut was answered by an overhand that dented his helm. When Orten tried a sideswing from his left, Jaehaerys swept aside his blade and slammed a mailed forearm into his chest. Orten lost his footing and fell down hard in the snow. From the other side Quid rushed for him. Jaehaerys knocked his sword from his fingers and smashed his head right at the bigger boy's nose.

"Enough!" Ser Alliser Thorne had a voice with an edge like Valyrian steel.

Quid rubbed his nose gingerly. His fingers came away bloody. "He broke my nose."

"He hamstrung you, split your skull, and cut off your hand. Or would have, if these blades had an edge. It's fortunate for you that the Watch needs stableboys as well as rangers." Ser Alliser gestured at Geron and Lio. "Get the Otter on his feet, he has funeral arrangements to make."

Jaehaerys took off his helm as the other boys were pulling Orten to his feet. The frosty morning air felt good on his face. He leaned on his sword, drew a deep breath, and allowed himself a moment to savor the victory.

"That is a longsword, not an old man's cane," Ser Alliser said sharply. "Are your legs hurting, your grace? Shall I sent for a royal crew to take care of you?"

Jaehaerys hated his tone. A mockery tone that Ser Alliser had chosen for him the first day he came to practice. The man was sent to the Wall by his father to join the Night's Watch for siding with his grandfather Aerys in their struggle for King's Landing. By mocking him to the ground and belittling him at every turn Ser Alliser somehow thought that he was getting back at the king for the disgrace his father had placed upon him. Had he been in Andrew's place in having his vengeance against his father, his head would've been travelling to his father right now. Jaehaerys had no doubt of it. "No," he said, calmly.

Thorne strode toward him, crisp black leathers whispering faintly as he moved. He was a compact man of fifty years, spare and hard, with grey in his black hair and eyes like chips of onyx. "The truth now," he commanded.

"I'm tired," Jaehaerys admitted. His arm burned from the weight of the longsword, and he was starting to feel his bruises now that the fight was done.

"What you are is weak."

"I won."

"No. They lost."

One of the other boys sniggered. Jaehaerys knew better than to reply. He had beaten everyone that Ser Alliser had sent against him, yet it gained him nothing. He would gain nothing from the master-at-arms. Thorne hated him, Jaehaerys had decided; of course, he hated the other boys even worse. Atleast the man had the eyes to see skill.

"That will be all," Thorne told them. "I can only stomach so much ineptitude in any one day. If the Others ever come for us, I pray they have archers, because you lot are fit for nothing more than arrow fodder."

Jaehaerys followed the rest back to the armory, walking with Gwayne. Both of them often walked together here, just the two of them together. There were almost twenty in the group he trained with, yet not one he could call a friend. Most were two or three years his senior, yet not one was half the fighter he had been at ten. Orten was quick but afraid of being hit. Kurt used his sword like a dagger, Geren was weak as a girl, Quid slow and clumsy. Harrion's blows were brutally hard but he ran right into your attacks. He'd tried to speak with them, tried to make some friends but the more time he spent with them in the yard, the more they despised him because he was better than them.

Inside, Jaehaerys hung sword and scabbard from a hook in the stone wall, ignoring the others around him. Methodically, he began to strip off his mail, leather, and sweat-soaked woolens. Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jaehaerys found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. He missed Viserion, never once stopped missing him but he missed him now more than ever. The Wall was cold, so bloody cold.