The Game of Cyvasse

The Reunion

Wild land hides wild people. Hundreds of Crabb men hurriedly occupied the field near the wood, on the road to Maidenpool, turning the ground they walked on into a muddy mess. First autumn light rains began to collapse the old summer.

"What's an old geezer like you doing here. If you're in it for the coin, you should be with the Lannisters," the younger man, dressed in even more modest armor than Barristan's, asked Barristan with a wide grin.

Summer children, thought Ser Barristan. This one is not old enough to try his luck against crazy Ironborne. If he was, another man would niw be standinf before Barristan. Barristan saw such faces here, whose owners were reluctantly here, some who had experienced two wars.

"Old men also wage war... and make war", uninterestedly with a slight amused smile replied Ser Barristan. The old commander of the Kingsguard, whome here no one would recognize, was dressed in modest breches and padded shirt over which he put pieces of armor he managed to collect. All that under the guise of a washed-out and worn-out cloak with a hood. He let his beard grow, because he was still a wanted man and did not want to attract attention.

Secretly and carefully he made his way through the muddy terrain to get as close as possible to the young King. Among the rare Targaryen banners, the golden banners of the Golden Company dominated. His first real enemies, the day he earned his white cloak, the day he cut down many skilled men from this sellsword company and decided fate of the usurper Maelys himself. He killed one, and served another for twenty years, thought Barristan.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he had crossed paths with Robert on Trident. It wasn't the first time that prince Rhaegar robbed Ser Barristan of a victory and the realm regretted for it. The world is changing, Ser Barristan thought wistfully, looking at the red comet, which had already lost the admiration of many people. Sometimes he wondered if he was dreaming, after Trident everything seemed strange, and above all boring. Monotony is a slow poison that kills. Warrior Robert had a less interesting reign than Aerys, who was afraid of his own shadow. If Grayjoy hadn't risen in revolt, nothing would have happened at all.

Maybe Ser Gerold will wake him from his sleep soon, and he will have to take over night duty. Did he really want that, he wondered.

He came close to the King, ten feet away and for a moment Ser Barristan lost his breath. He stared motionlessly at the figure in front of him. A waterfall of memories almost carried away the old knight.

Irritating sound of seagulls was then replaced by the clanging of swords and the sighs of men. War had come again to the Stepstones and his young face watched the crown prince. Tywin Lannister, Hoster, Brynden Tully and Lord Steffon, Robert's late father, stood like shadows beside the young prince.

Morale was low, Commander and Hand of the King ser Ormund was among the first to die, soon followed by second in command, ser Jason Lannister on Bloodstone. Despite everything, he remembered his excitement, he had a good armor, whose shine set him apart from the others. He rode a powerful black horse. Barristan's skill at tournaments paid off and he was ready for war.

The crown prince did not impress ser Barristan, like most Targaryens, except for Rhaegar. Fair-haired, handsome and timid but ordinary, He seemed not to want to be in the spotlight. Instead, he found support in Tywin, the young Lannister expressed himself in such a way that it seemed the prince spoke through him. Timid Aerys always liked that, he felt important, orders and discipline in the camp were, in his eyes, his merit. He was the last to realize that it was not so, and in the end he tore tongues to protect his image.

Aerys loved Barristan, because like the young King, Barriistan did not talk much, and like many others, he obediently kept silent while old Aerys did his evil.

The fateful day, when Lord Stark was swallowed by a green beast, Barristan was off duty, but he knew. No one told him, nor did he hear rumors, but only that outcome made sense. The time was such. It seemed that Aerys' reign was coming to an end, and Rhaegar's rise was sensible, but this time the feeling deceived ser Barristan.

Rhaegar. From a distance, the boy King did look like Rhaegar, in black armor, with a red cloak. And a three-headed dragon, Barristan thought. True, but the dragon on the boy's chest was not adorned with rubies. The armor was less decorated, almost rough in its practicality.

He looked at the gathered men with controlled interest, but also mild disappointment, Barristan noticed. Men and boys in front of him were not as skilled or imposing as the Golden Company. Flanked by a few guards, he walked among the men, with a royal stride, a raised head and a sharp gaze. Barristan calmly followed, trying to keep close.

"You sir," the king shouted measuredly and startled Ser Barristan, it was not possible that he was noticed, no one knew him here.

"Yes, you," the king repeated in a softer voice tinged with a smile, "it seems that your bag is wriggling," he pointed his hand at the man. The others shrank and left the boy with the bag alone. Dressed in modest chainmail and helmet, with a candle of House Cave sewn on his vest.

"I, mmmm .... this ... what," the boy muttered, shackled by complete confusion.

"The bag, sir," quietly, so that only those nearby could hear him, but with the fire of authority, the king said. "Open the bag." The boy stared at the king in astonishment, tightly pressing the bag, after which the bag spoke with a quack. Whether to run or stay. Take responsibility, Ser Barristan thought well to the boy. Moments of denial changed the boy, melted the color from his forehead and wrapped him in sweat. He broke down, Barristan saw, after which the boy opened the bag with trembling hands from which a duck jumped out.

"Ser Rolly, you are not the only duck here," the king said with a moderate smile, which elicited a laugh from the others. Barristan did not understand the joke, nor did he need to, he knew what was next. Theft in a war camp is severely punished. Knight replied to the king with a fierce laugh, "I am at least prettier."

Joke amused the king, but only for a moment, and soom his facial expression regained the old mixture of amusement and seriousness. "Where did you get this duck," he asked the boy, who was holding the duck in his hands, after catching it in an attempt of escape. "It seems to me that we have similar ones in stock. Thunderex, what is the penalty for theft," the king said with an equally amused voice.

"Cutting off the hand," the Summer Islander answered shortly, stroking the cover of his sword, almost twice as big as his compatriot Prince Jalabhar Xho.

"Reason, I suppose it didn't fall from the sky. The comet is not that generous." He turned to the boy again.

"Odddd ... it separated from its mother and siblings," the boy said uncertainly, and Ser Rolly added jokingly, "on my plate I hope."

"And you, sir, were so kind to return it. May the mother bless you, case resolved," the king said and continued with a threatening tone, pointing his hand, "the supplies are there. It would be better for everyone if there were no more family reunions, because next time, I'm afraid, the affair will not end so happily." He looked away from the stunned boy and went on. Stopping for a moment, he turned back again and addressed Ser Rolly firmly, "Ser Duckfield... and check their weapons. Notice anything that is bad and replace it".

The boy with the duck and a rusty spear looked confused as no one paid attention to him anymore.