Winter Is Coming

Stark Guards

Richard swung his sword, grunting as Jory met him stroke for stroke. The captain of the guard conceded a step, backing closer and closer to the high pillars that bordered the open courtyard. Back in Winterfell, they had trained every day, but so many other duties now demanded their attention that it was a rarity for any of them to find time for swordplay. For Jory to spend the time to train with him, when the captain was so busy with guarding Ned and the girls, was a sacrifice that Richard was surprised he'd been willing to make.

Jory swung left, and Richard parried, swords clashing, but he wasn't prepared for the captain of the guard to strike low, and the blunt sparring sword bounced off his Stark armour. Jory grinned.

"That's the price you pay for such idle behaviour," he said, stepping back.

Richard shook his head in exasperation, taking up a defensive stance once more. "I'll have you know I've been on guard duty almost every day since we arrived, captain." He swung his sword, Jory bringing up his own to block him, again and again and again. The captain ducked beneath Richard's blade, switching to the offensive with the ease of a cat, and Richard was forced to take a step back, just barely deflecting the blow.

"But you haven't just been on guard duty," Jory said, panting, as their blades met in the space between them, steel sparking on steel. "You've been 'escorting' Lady Lyra around this damned keep whenever you've had the chance, haven't you?"

Richard wrenched his sword away and struck strongly enough that Jory staggered back a step, fighting to keep his footing.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked, breathing hard.

Jory only smiled, and lunged. Richard brought up his sword to deflect another blow.

"Nothing," his captain chuckled, taking up the defensive as Richard made a wide sweep with his blade. "Only that you seem to be setting your aim a little high."

Richard stumbled, almost losing his footing, and his next stroke went wide. Jory easily sidestepped it, smacking Richard's leather armour before stepping back once more.

"I have no aims regarding Lyra Stark," Richard told his captain. "I only wish to do my duty and keep her safe."

Jory shrugged. "If you say so." He wiped sweat from his brow. "What do you think of her, anyway?"

Richard considered for a moment, trying to choose his words wisely. "I think she has a good heart," he said at last.

"Yes, I'm sure it's her good heart you're looking at," Jory quipped.

Richard took a step forward, his knuckles white around his sword hilt. He stood almost a head higher than the captain, who raised his free hand in surrender.

"I'm sorry, that was a cheap shot," he said. And lunged.

Richard's muscles acted on reflex, blocking the blow as he took a swift step back, hating to admit that the attack had come as a surprise. But he recovered quickly, forcing Jory to retreat step by step, and then, with a grunt, he ducked beneath the captain of the guard's sword and slashed his own upwards. It was a move with the sole purpose of cutting the opponent from balls to collarbone and seeing what they were made of.

Of course, the blunt sparring sword he wielded did nothing whatsoever to achieve that purpose, but Jory still jumped back with a cry, stumbling a step on landing. Richard chuckled, chucking his sparring sword onto a pile of them at the edge of the courtyard.

"I think I won that round," he stated baldly.

"I suppose you did," Jory grumbled, mirroring Richard's movements with his own sword.

Ned Stark himself had taught Richard that move. It had been a day almost ten years ago, seven years after the end of the Rebellion. Richard had been a boy of twelve, Ned's daughter Lyra only seven years old. He'd been training with Ser Rodrik. He remembered that he'd been sweating even before they started sparring, because today Lord and Lady Stark were watching, and he wanted more than anything to impress them.

After a while, Ned had walked over and drawn his sword. Richard couldn't remember exactly how it had happened, but then Ned was training him, and he could have sworn he learned more in that hour or so than he had learned in the past four years of swordplay. When they were done, Ned had sheathed his sword and smiled down at him.

"One day," he'd said, "I'd be honoured to have you as part of my guard. Now, run back to your father, lad."

Richard had boasted of those words to his family that evening, but since then he'd served Lord Stark with a pride more fierce than a lion's. As he'd walked home, he'd caught Lythaen smiling at him. But no, he would not think of Lythaen, not now, not ever.

"Richard?" Jory's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Yes, captain?"

"I'm going to ask you something that you won't like."

Richard looked at him. "Those are always my favourite kinds of questions."

"When I die," Jory began, "or when I grow too old for this, I'm going to ask Lord Eddard to name you the next captain of the guard. Will you accept?"

Richard stared at him. "What?" he said blankly.

"I trust you more than any of the rest of them." Jory held his gaze. "And so does Lord Stark."

It took a long moment for him to fully process what Jory was saying. When he'd grasped it, he said, "It would be my honour, captain, but..."

"I'm glad that's settled," Jory cut him off. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Come. We have duties to attend."

Nodding in agreement, Richard followed his captain out of the courtyard, still somewhat stunned. To be shown such trust and respect, and to be given such an honour... They walked down the corridors in silence.

"I heard Lord Stark was preparing to leave King's Landing," Richard said cautiously. "Some disagreement with the King?"

Jory's step did not pause. "Aye," he said, "he's resigned as Hand. He's readying for departure now."

"He resigned?" Richard almost stopped walking. That was a drastic measure. "What was this disagreement?"

"Don't know, something to do with some girl across the Narrow Sea."

Richard took the hint. Either Jory knew what it was, and was lying to him to keep Ned's secrets, or he truly didn't know. Whichever it was, he clearly wasn't destined to find out.

"It'll be a relief to go home, don't you think?" he asked his captain.

"It will," Jory agreed. "I only hope nothing bad comes of it. Our King has an awful temper."

Richard sighed. He hoped Lyra and Sansa and Arya would not come to harm because of it. Down the corridor ahead, a fellow guard, Varly, came hurrying towards them.

"Jory, Richard," he hailed, panting as he halted before them. "Lord Stark has requested your presence. He says he wants to visit a child in a brothel. What he means I don't know..."

"Another of Robert's bastards," muttered Jory under his breath.

"What?" Richard said sharply. Robert's bastards... ?

"Nothing," was the captain's hasty reply. "We must go. Our Lord summons us."

Richard did not question him further. He just followed after his captain, hand upon the hilt of his sword, down the corridors of King's Landing.