A final lesson in the false spring
The two wards sat across from each other at a long rectangular table in a low, drum keep's hall. Their guardian sat the end of the table, many feet away, watching and listening. A book slammed down at the other end of the table as a young maester named Colemon took his seat. Dust waved across at the boys - the book hadn't been touched in a long time.
The pages sounded brittle as Colemon - a waif-like man with a long neck and slick, brown hair - began turning pages, but nothing tore under his gentle fingers. He chopped his lips almost silently, his tongue appearing to lick a dry spot before disappearing. He smiled when he saw it and glanced upwards at his lord.
Jon Arryn nodded, snorting. He had an aquiline nose, as if broken once, many years ago. His hair was all white now, like the fowl on his banners. A wide-spreading beard covered his lower jaw. Colemon's smile disappeared, dutifully, and he looked back down to the book and adjusted himself before speaking.
He read the title aloud first: Epytoma Rai Podestys.
The two boys - young men, they likely preferred to deign themselves - beside him were Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. They were familiar with such a setting - maester, lord Jon, the long table, the cold draft coming from the window, the stoic walls. Sometimes it was in the Eyrie, now it was in Gates of the Moon, for winter still held hold in this year, 280, though Colemon had been telling them it would end soon.
There were many .. subjects upon which Jon had Colemon read over and over again, droning into the boys' ears as if to make them memorize every word. He'd sit there in his chair and watch with his hawkish old eyes, occasionally cough. Sometimes he himself drifted off into sleep; once, early in the wardship, he awoke to find himself being laughed at by two little boys. Still, he'd not ever admitted the dry, humorless tone of the topics upon which he and Colemon focused, and endlessly insisted on having the boys sit there, straight-backed and alert.
Or, to appear that way. Time had passed. Colemon weaseled on, his voice amusing no listener. Jon stood up suddenly, silencing Colemon, and looked between his two wards. The lord of the Eyrie had wide eyes, as if he was straining to see well.
"Robert, Eddard," he said, using the boys' full names with the most clear enunciation as ever, "Have you been listening to the maester?"
A long pause, during which Jon looked between the two wards, reading their faces, knowing every twitch and look they might make. This book had never been read to them before. It was new. If they'd not been listening, they couldn't pretend this time. He decided to pick on Robert first. A lord had more weight on his shoulders than a lord's brother, after all.
"Tell me, Robert.. what is power?" Arryn leaned forward, hunching over as if to hear every little sound the Baratheon might make.
"What do the easterners have to say of power?"
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