Chương 163: Keeper of the Graves (SI) by darienqmk
Links: https://www.alternatehistory.com/forum/threads/keeper-of-the-graves-si.512495/
"You must sleep, William."
William Dustin was like a man possessed. He was not of sound mind, hadn't been since that day he fell from his red steed in King's Landing. Ever since, he'd been feverish, twitchy, and occasionally found weeping.
It was a thing that happened, Howland knew. From tales of the veterans of the Ninepenny Wars, to some of his comrades that had fought by Ned's side in battles that felt like so long ago - sometimes, a man's darkness caught up to him, and dragged him inside, holding them at its mercy until it eventually released them or the man killed himself.
William looked up with red-rimmed eyes.
"No, my Lord," he said quietly. Strange - he'd briefly addressed the nobility as 'milord' until he got himself under some semblance of control. "I cannot sleep. Not when the battle approaches."
"You will be of no use of the fight if you are not rested."
William laughed bitterly. "Me? Do you truly think I would make any difference against a knight of the Kingsguard, much less three?"
Howland did not respond, as William continued to grind something in the mortar and pestle he'd filched from the Grandmaester's office in King's Landing.
"I will die there," he said with a mystic certainty, though he didn't seem happy about it. Not that he should. "I cannot best Arthur Dayne in a swordfight, even with two men to a Kingsguard. And certainly not Whent or Hightower, who have been fighting for longer than I've been alive."
"Then what will you do?" Howland sat down beside him, staring up at the clouds. The stars were occasionally visible through the chinks in that iron-grey armor. "Are you making some sort of… elixir of immortality?"
William snorted. "Ironically, yes. It is said that a Yi-Tish emperor commissioned every alchemist in Yi Ti to create an elixir of immortality, in his quest for neverending life. Sadly - or perhaps not so sadly, from the point of view of the peasants - it was about as successful as Aerion drinking wildfire to turn into a dragon. But happily for us, some alchemists accidentally created 'fire medicine', as they call it."
Howland stared curiously at the contents of the mortar; though it was too dark to see, even with his eyes, he could tell it was some sort of coarse powder. "Is that what you demanded from the Grandmaester?"
"I only needed niter, since I didn't know what it looked like," he said.
"Did it have anything to do with the fact that he was stabbed a dozen times?"
William's hands stopped briefly, and then he got back to grinding. Howland did not miss the slight tremor, though, which was not present before.
"The smallfolk were rightfully angry and terrified," he said. "The Grandmaester shouldn't have worn his gold and silver links, not even in a relatively safe place like the Street of Silk."
"Of course," Howland said. William said nothing in response, so Howland merely watched.
Ser Mark Ryswell approached them. Howland could hear the partially armored man from a mile away, though William jumped a bit, too focused on his work. Mark was a good man. Howland suspected Mark's presence had done more for William's sanity in the past few weeks than anyone else in this party. Certainly not Theo, who thought William a craven, though he'd never say it out loud in front of Ned Stark.
"Still working on your project?" he rumbled, taking care to keep his voice down. They were still in the Stormlands, but Dorne was not so far away that they could be considered safe.
"Aye." William shook his hands. "Do you want to take over?"
Mark raised an eyebrow, bemused, and took the tools. He pulled his face close.
"Don't sniff it," William said with a startled laugh. "I have far too little of it already for my liking."
"What is it?" said Mark, beginning to grind.
"That one's sulfur. I think. It was dark, and not everyone has a cat's eyes like you do," William said in response to Howland's disbelieving look. "We'll find out in the morning, regardless."
Mark shook his head. "Why am I grinding sulfur? I don't even know what it is. For that matter, why aren't you sleeping?"
William grunted, though he wasn't as perturbed as earlier. "I can't sleep with all I have to look forward to being imminent doom."
Mark chuckled. "You don't think I can take on any one of the seven finest knights in the realm?"
"I would bet my entire life savings on the Kingsguard."
"How faithless to your friends," Mark drawled. In his massive paws, the mortar and pestle looked comically small. "I suspect you'll beg the Kingsguard to take you in, should we greet them."
"You joke, but I wouldn't," William said, staring into the last embers. "Those people are deluded. They worship Rhaegar as if he is a god, rather than a very flawed, and possibly insane, inbred piece of shit in a silk shirt."
Howland snorted as Mark guffawed, his earlier caution thrown to the wind.
"Jaime Lannister made the right choice, in face of all his possibilities."
That shut them up quick.
"What makes you say that?" Mark asked slowly. He was a knight, one of the few in the North, and he took his oaths very seriously.
"A knight vows to defend the innocent, do they not?" William said. "Aerys burned smallfolk alive, Mark. They were petty criminals; stealing a loaf of bread, maybe nicking a stag from a nobleman. They were likely starving people, turning to theft out of desperation when any supposedly honest job would pay them half of what their children need to feed. Aerys could have sent them to the Wall, or have them flogged. Anything. But he burned men alive, and I heard rumors that it was only after he heard a man scream that he could finish inside Queen Rhaella."
Howland felt bile rise up in his throat.
"Even with an unlovable father like Tywin Lannister, I would certainly choose him over Aerys."
"You speak true," Mark said softly. "I do not deny that that Aerys needed to be removed for good, but - oaths are what make a man."
"I don't think so. A man is defined by what he does, what he stays true to. To follow an oath, I think, is an honorable way to define yourself, but it is not the only way."
"What do you think makes a man, then?" Mark asked.
William paused for a moment.
"To… not be an arsehole."
Mark cracked a smile. "As good as anything I've heard."
"What about you, Howland?"
Howland looked at William. William's smile slipped away as Howland continued to stare, unblinking.
"I think that a man's reputation is defined by his achievements," Howland said. "The Starks have bred countless generations of great men, and that is why they are the Kings of Winter. But a man's heart is defined by his ability to… not be an arsehole, I suppose."
William snorted.
"Enough philosophizing," Mark complained. "I'm no Maester, I can't keep up with either of you. Won't you tell me what you're making, yet?"
"'Fire medicine'," said William. "Hopefully, this will keep up from all being cut down like stalks of wheat before the Kingsguard."
"It's not wildfire, is it?" Mark said, his eyes widening fractionally. He held it an arm's length from himself.
"If it were wildfire, we'd all be dead," William said bluntly. Then he glanced northwards, somewhat worried. "I hope the wildfire removal is going well."
"Oh, aye, I wish them the best of luck," Mark said, not faking the shudder. They'd gotten out of King's Landing quick, but what news they'd caught reported truly ridiculous volumes of wildfire buried under the city. "Anyway, you can have this back. Got to make sure Dornish raiders don't ambush us, eh?"
"Are all those muscles for show, then?" William said, and Mark laughed as he stood. William held out the mortar and pestle to Howland.
Howland merely stared at the outstretched arm, until William sighed and went back to grinding on his own.
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