Eleni wasn’t quite pacing, but she looked like she dearly wanted to. Straw-blonde hair was tied in a serviceable braid, suitable for a lady’s maid, and brown eyes kept turning skyward, praying for patience. With her in the room she had been granted by Lady Cynthea was her father and her son, similar pugnacious looks on their faces.

“It has been two days since Lord America departed,” Eleni said. “Two days.”

Walt and Toby shared a look - an uncharitable person would call it a glare - before turning away, keeping their mouths shut.

“This isn’t the village or the mountains anymore,” Eleni said. “Things work differently here.” She sounded stressed.

“Would have done the same no matter where I was,” Walt muttered to himself, scratching at his short grey beard.

“Father, you cut a knight’s ear off!” Elene cried.

“He were only a hedge knight,” Walt argued.

Eleni pressed her hands to her cheeks. “We can’t afford to have that sort of thing reported to the lord.”

Walt gave her a mock serious look. “Daughter mine, there were too many gawkers to get away with slittin’ his throat.”

Toby snorted, and a faint smirk crossed Walt’s face. As much as Eleni was pleased to see them almost on the verge of agreeing on something, now was not the time.

“‘M not laughing Da,” Eleni said, discarding the posture and manners Kelda had taught her. “We’re only as safe as our lord or lady can afford to make us. Every time they have to protect you, it’ll cost ‘em more the next.”

Walt’s smile faded. “That streak of piss isn’t going to be reportin’ nothing to no one. None who saw would speak on his behalf, neither, not after what he said.”

“That’s not the point Da,” Eleni said. She sighed. “The gossips are already spreading the tale. Lady Kelda has done so much for me, and Lord America for the two of you…I want to make things easier for them, not harder.”

“America would understand,” Walt said, though his tone said he knew she had a point.

“Steve woulda slapped his head off, and then made people think he were a goatfucker,” Toby said. He gave Walt a pointed look, silently judging his failings. The old man scowled at him.

“Toby,” Eleni said, voice chilly. “Mind your language.”

“You never used to mind,” the blond boy complained.

“That was before I learnt that you could be taught better,” Eleni said.

Toby grumbled under his breath.

“Don’t make me tell Keladry,” Eleni warned.

Toby grumbled some more, but with politer language. “Why am I here anyway? I don’t need to hear you scold the old man.”

“You know what you did,” Eleni said, pursing her lips at her son.

“What has he done now?” Walt asked, suspicious. “I hadn’t heard anything.”

“Cause I weren’t addled enough to get caught, was I,” Toby said, visibly fighting the urge to make a rude gesture.

“Don’t think you’re too young for a clip over the ear, boy,” Walt said.

“Try it,” Toby said, baring his teeth at him.

Walt visibly considered it, narrowing his eyes.

“Boys, enough!” Eleni said. “I just w - you two-” She blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath. “Why don’t the pair of you go fishing?”

“Fishing??”

Boy and man scowled at each other as they spoke over one another.

“It will be good for you,” Eleni said. “You haven’t had much time to get to know each other, and Keladry said the journey back to the village would set off in a day or two.”

Walt gave the boy a long look. “I’m supposed to help ready the lads for the journey,” he said, though it was grudging.

“I have to brush Redbloom,” Toby said flatly.

Eleni wasn’t listening to them. “You always loved fishing when you could get away Toby, and Da, I remember you used to haunt that bend in the river. You’ll have a great time.”

“But Ma-”

“Eleni, I don’t-”

“It’s still early, so if you get a hurry on you can make a nice afternoon of it,” Eleni said, cutting them off. “I’ll make you a picnic basket while you get what you need.”

Both of them recognised her tone, and knew there was no arguing with her. Grudgingly, they gave their agreement, each eyeing the other from the corner of their eyes. They trooped out of the room behind Eleni as she made a beeline for the castle kitchens, and split up at their first opportunity. They didn’t need the aid of the other for something as simple as a fishing trip.

X

It was still before noon that saw them meet in the stables, in the corner Toby had claimed for ‘his’ small herd of horses. Both had gathered what supplies they needed, and Toby had asked Lyanna for a handful of apples on his way past the kitchens, one of which he now fed to Khal, the great black destrier taking delicate bites as he held it out to him.

“What’ve you got there, boy?” Walt asked as he arrived, carrying his equipment over his shoulder.

Toby gave him a look. “It’s an apple.”

“You know what I mean,” Walt said, scowling, though that might have just been his face. “On your shoulder.”

“That’s my fishing spear,” Toby said. It was a little taller than he was, and one end had been whittled and cut at until a circle of sharp prongs remained. He peered at Walt. “What’ve you got?”

“It’s my fishing pole,” Walt said.

“Is that hemp string?” Toby asked. “What’re you gonna do, tie the fish up? Make a net on the way?”

“Do you know anything about fishing, or did you just let Eleni think you did to skive off?”

“Ma taught me how to fish,” Toby said, glaring.

“I never taught Eleni how to fish,” Walt muttered.

“There’s a lot ye didn’t teach her,” Toby said, attitude on full display.

Walt’s jaw twitched with the effort of holding his tongue, and his grip on his fishing pole tightened. Before he could say something he would regret, a basket resting on the stall wall caught his eye, and he seized the distraction, nodding towards it. “That’s for us then?”

Toby turned to see what he meant. He hadn’t noticed it when he arrived, too intent on sharing his apples with his horses and mules. It was too high for him to pull down easily, and behind him Walt made to get it for him, but before he could do more than start moving, a red sand steed nosed it, bumping it off into Toby’s waiting hands.

“Thanks, Quicksilver,” Toby said. There was a note tucked into the lid, written on a scrap of parchment that was spoiled by ink on the other side. The boy read it, mouthing along silently with the words.

“Well?” Walt asked.

Toby tossed the note to him, opening up the basket to see the goods within. There was bread, some meats and cheeses, even some fruit, and a single small bottle of wine. The boy bet he’d have to fight the old man for it, too.

“I can’t read this boy,” Walt said.

“Oh,” Toby said, surprised. “Really?”

“It’s not a common skill,” Walt said.

“But Ma knows,” Toby said.

“Guess her lady taught her,” Walt said. Memory of words spoken earlier in heat made his expression sour.

“She said to have a good time, and that the wine was for me,” Toby said.

“The hells she did,” Walt said, squinting at the note as if to gain insight. “You’re telling me you can read this but don’t know how to fish?”

Toby glared at him. “I’m takin’ Khal. You can have Bill.”

Walt matched his glare. “I’m not riding the mule.”

“He suits ya,” Toby said. “Bet you’d get along great.”

As if he knew he was being talked about, Bill stamped his foot and gave a screaming whinny, drawing their eyes through the slats of the stall. He was eyeballing Redbloom with a look that promised violence.

“I’m not riding the mule,” Walt said again. “Brat.”

Toby glowered at him, clearly thinking unkind thoughts. “Fine. But I want some of the wine.”

“You can have a sip.”

“Half.”

“A sip, and I don’t tell Eleni.”

“...fine.”

X

The warmth of the noon sun shone down on them as they rode for the spot that Walt had been told of, Toby on the huge black destrier and Walt on a shaggy mountain horse. The boy had gotten some looks, riding such an animal past the growing army camp, but a mean look from Walt had dissuaded any of the hedge knights or men-at-arms who might have wanted to confront him over it. They had left the castle and the camp behind quickly, and within the hour they had made it to an arching stone bridge down the south road, under which a river flowed.

Walt led them off the road and through the trees, following a small path that didn’t see regular traffic. It was easy to find and follow when you knew what you were looking for, but most would have ridden by without a glance. It led them on a twisting trail between trees and along grassy banks, past rapids and an old crossing before petering out in a bend by the river, just past some shallows. There was a deep pool carved by the water flow, and a willow tree casting shade over the water.

They dismounted, leaving the horses to their own business. The old man let out a quiet, happy sigh. It had been years since he had gone fishing, his thoughts always turning to his stolen daughter, churning with guilt and self recrimination. Now though, he could sit and think, just him and the fish. Well, him, the fish, and his loud mouthed hellion of a grandson. He set about preparing what he needed to his satisfaction.

“How’m I ‘sposed to fish here?” Toby asked, looking dubiously between his spear and the deep water.

“Hope you don’t mind getting wet,” Walt said. He frowned. “You better not scare the fish away diving after that spear.”

“Too deep anyway,” Toby said. “I’ll just keep Khal company.”

“...I’ve got a spare line, if you want it,” Walt said.

Toby turned, surprised though he tried to hide it. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said, only somewhat grudging.

The river bank was steep, carved away by spring melts, and Walt settled in with his legs dangling over the edge. A worm served as bait, and he flicked it into a shaded section of the river, where he thought the fish might lurk. He settled in to wait, thinking about the wine in the basket. Toby had produced a knife from somewhere, and was whittling away at the base of his spear, carving a notch so the line could be tied to it more firmly. What birds that had been disturbed by their arrival began to sing again, and the horses were grazing further up the bank.

It did not take Toby long to prepare his own rod, tying the line to his spear with a competent knot and approaching the bank. Walt was only half paying attention to him, focused on the nibbles he felt on his own.

“I’ll show you how to tie your hook on,” Walt said. “You want to be careful, as they ain’t cheap-”

Toby was ignoring him though, standing on the bank rather than sitting, peering into the river. His eyes narrowed, spotting something, and he hurled his spear with a practised arm, sending up a small splash.

“The bleeding hells boy?!” Walt hissed, long habit seeing him keep his voice down.

“What?” Toby asked, not seeing any problem as he began to pull his spear back up with the line Walt had lent him.

“You’re going to scare away all the fish,” Walt said. “I gave you the line to fish with, not - that!”

“I am fishing with it,” Toby said. His spear came clear of the water, spikes empty of any prey. He frowned, and began to loop the line for another throw.

The nibbles on his line had already vanished. “Why you couldn’t be more like your Da I’ll never know,” Walt grumbled.

Toby’s gaze snapped to him, a sudden hate in his eyes. “I’ll never be like him,” he said.

“I’ll say,” Walt said, taken aback. “He was a mite more patient than you. More respectful of his elders, too.”

“What?” Toby asked, face screwed up. “I slit his throat while he was tryin’ to pull his guts back into his belly.”

Walt set his jaw, stubborn. “Your Da was murdered trying to defend Eleni. Didn’t know a damn thing about soldiering but he killed two clan scum before they cut him down.”

“I’m clan born,” Toby said.

“Raised, maybe, but not born,” Walt said.

“Does it matter?” Toby said, mulish.

“Does it - of course it matters,” Walt said. “You’re all Eleni has left of her husband.”

“But if I wasn’t, what? Run me off back to the clans?” Toby said, fishing forgotten. His grip was tight on his spear.

“Don’t be daft boy,” Walt said. “You’re my grandson, the clans killed your Da, and that’s the end of it.”

Toby stared at him for a long moment. “If some villager was my Da, then how come I’m a warg?” he challenged.

Walt spluttered. “What?”

Toby crossed his arms, his suspicions validated. “I got that Old God magic,” he said. “Nothin’ some sot-”

“He wasn’t some ‘villager’ or ‘sot’,” Walt cut him off, near growling. “He was my goodson. Your father.”

They glared at each other, neither backing down. A tug on Walt’s line had him looking to the water by instinct, and when he glanced back Toby had turned away, glowering. There was silence as each wrestled with their own thoughts.

“That Keladry was mor-”

“Don’t talk about Keladry,” Toby said. He stomped off, heading downstream, away from Walt.

Silence fell again.

Walt wished he had the words, but he’d never been one to speak of his feelings, preferring to show them by action. It was why he’d gone off to fight the Blackfyres to get the coin to show he could provide a good life for his wife-to-be, why he hadn’t accepted the offer to join the Tully household when his daughter was born, why he’d tried to follow the raiders back into the mountains even half dead - he cut off the flow of thoughts.

A snuffling, grunting sound caught his ear, and he turned slowly. To his left, just downriver, a boar had emerged from the trees, following some scent or another. It wasn’t the biggest he had ever seen, but its tusks were still large enough to make him wary, white and sharp. The tusks weren’t the important part. The important part was his grandson, eyeing the river, oblivious to the boar’s presence. His leathery old heart skipped a beat.

“Boy,” Walt called, low and hoarse.

“What?” Toby grouched back. Something in Walt’s face stripped the surliness from him, and he turned to see what he was looking at, and saw the boar. It was much too close for comfort.

Unfortunately, the boar had heard Toby too, and it was eyeing him with the ornery look that warned a man when an animal was just mean. It began to grunt and snort, stamping and raking a rear foot across the ground. Then it charged.

Toby brought his spear to bear, but it was no boar hunting spear, and he was only a young boy. The boar brushed it aside contemptuously, and it did little more than draw blood from its shoulder as it ploughed through him. The spear was snapped in two and Toby was saved a nasty wound only by his quick feet and a leap to the side, the boar skidding to a stop to avoid a fall into the river.

Though he had avoided a goring, it still hurt to be knocked aside by a one hundred pound boar, and Toby cried out. “Khal!”

Walt had not remained idle after seeing the animal charge. He was up and on his feet in a flash, running towards them, and he cursed his age as he saw the boy knocked aside, but then he was on him, and he seized the boy by the arm, pulling him back. With his free hand he took up a snapped half of the spear, and he set himself between the beast and his grandson, meeting its mean look with one of his own. “Come on then you stinky bugger,” he said. “I’ll jam this right down your throat. Toby, run.”

His threat didn’t seem to dissuade the boar at all, and it set itself for another charge, and he couldn’t spare a glance to see if the brat had obeyed him or not. The spear - a stick, really - felt light in his hands, and he knew it wouldn’t be nearly enough. But then, he heard hoofbeats.

The black warhorse came out of nowhere, trampling the boar and stamping viciously, tossing its head with a whinny. The boar’s skull was stoved in, and it was left twitching in the dirt, Khal eyeing it suspiciously. Another stamp put an end to its twitches, crushing its skull entirely. The destrier snorted, already turning away, towards Toby.

Walt let out an explosive breath, arms trembling finely as the rush faded. He watched as Khal stepped around him to nose at Toby, inspecting him for harm. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and he coughed to clear it. “You alright boy?”

“Told ye I was a warg,” Toby muttered, getting to his feet.

“I don’t care what magic you got,” Walt said bluntly. “Your Da’s name was Myles, but besides that, you’re my grandson.”

Toby looked up at him, and for once, he didn’t have anything to say. Slowly, he nodded.

“Now, c’mere,” Walt said, turning back for the bank. “Bring that line; I’ll show you how to fish down in the lowlands.” He returned to his spot by the river and sat, fighting the urge to glance back. He was rewarded when Toby took a seat next to him, and he produced his spare hook, taking up the line and making sure the boy could see what he was doing.

Dubious, but willing to give it a try, Toby took up his broken spear and cast his line out once Walt had prepared it, birdsong returning to the trees in the wake of the brief fight. Neither spoke, the silent peace still feeling too fragile, and they watched the water, one finger on their hemp lines. At length, Walt cleared his throat.

“The one who stole Eleni,” Walt said. “Slit his throat, ye said?”

“...Keladry spilled his guts ‘cross the ground,” Toby said. “But I finished him off.”

“He’s a good sort,” Walt said.

Toby grunted in agreement. “Could…what was Myles like?”

“He had blond hair, not like Eleni’s, more like yours, and his blue eyes set the women to clucking,” Walt said. “Kincaid was his Da, and…”

Time slipped by, as Walt and Toby spoke of things that might have been, little attention paid to their lines by man or fish. The sun began to drift lower in the sky, and the light began to change. They whiled away the hours by the river, and when it was time to leave they might not have been as close as family ought to be, but they had taken the first steps along the road. As they packed up, Walt turned to Toby with a serious look on his face.

“If anyone asks, we caught plenty, but let ‘em go cause of the boar,” Walt said.

“Size of my arm they were,” Toby said, nodding his agreement.

The boar was slung over Khal’s back, and they left the fishing spot behind, heading towards the road. It was a day well spent.