The King of Winters

Chapter-86

"Your Grace," Wayn said, breathless. "There has been a visitor for you. Lord Hoster and Lord Arryn are in the audience chamber with them."

Andrew thrust the iron rods in his hand into the wooden bucket and stepped away from the forge. He had not been expecting any visitor to come meet him today. "Visitors for me here in Riverrun?"

Wayn nodded. "They are asking for you, sire." The steward looked at his white shirt he had worn underneath the woolen jacket stained with smoke and dirt at the chest. "Would you like for fresh garb to be brought for you?"

Andrew fastened the jacket along the center with the silver clasps. "Continue on without me," he told the smiths. "I will be back soon." He wanted to see this visitor first and to know what he might want with him.

"Of course, your grace," Mikken said. "We shall have the work going on."

He hung his long leather gloves and leather jerkin inside the armoury, and took the jacket back from the wall and donned the fresh jacket upon the shirt he had worn beneath the jerkin as he worked in the forge. It would not be a proper way for a King to address a visitor, he knew, but he didn't care that much about it. Last of all he collected Frost, and slung the sword across his back.

Wayn was waiting for him patiently outside the armoury. Andrew gestured when he was ready to meet the visitor. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Andrew followed the steward back to the castle. Wayn led him away from the armoury across the narrow walkway along to the rear door of Riverrun. With the steward leading the way, they turned right from the great hall and up a half turn of stair, to Lord Hoster's audience chamber. He saw Lord Royce standing by the fire, his hands folded in front of his chest. Ser Brynden Tully was beside his brother, and Ser Robert Arryn was seated in a window seat. In the center of the room, Lord Arryn and Lord Tully were talking with a couple of men he didn't know. Lord Jason Mallister stood beside them, but the other two knights were strangers to him. Andrew wondered if they were the ones who wanted to meet him.

One of them was tall and handsome in a cloth-of-silver cloak and a suit of grey enameled scales. His companion was armoured like the sun, golden and beautiful. On the breastplate a large gilded sunflower opened its petals, reflecting any light it caught like the sun. Lord Arryn saw him first and announced his presence to the two men. "Here's the King, sers," he said. "The true heir of Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North."

Both men turned their heads around to face him and Andrew studied their faces, wondering if he could have met them before and forgotten them in his time at Braavos.

A bright smile lit up the face of man in the silver cloak. "I have seen you at last," he said and walked over to him. The knight put his hands on his shoulder and looked at him at an arms length. The question must have been clear on his face as the knight quickly stepped back and knelt in front of him. "I am sorry, Your Grace. You do not know me but I knew your mother well. Queen Ashara visited Oldtown many a times with her mother in her youth. I am Ser Gunthor of the High Tower. My sword is yours."

His companion followed suit. He crossed his arms against his chest and bowed his head. "And mine as well, Sire. I'm Ser Emmon Cuy of Sunflower Hall."

Hightower, he remembered then. His grandmother had been from Oldtown. His mother had told him a lot about her own mother's home at the mouth of the Honeywine. And the last he has heard of Oldtown was that Lord Leyton had called his banners. Andrew was glad to see them here. Though he did not know who this Ser Gunthor was. "My grandmother was a Hightower of Oldtown," Andrew said.

"She was, your grace," Ser Gunthor said. "Lady Alysanne Hightower was her name. A good woman she was and mine own sister."

Your sister. . . That would make him a son of Lord Leyton and an uncle to Andrew. "Anyone from my family is always welcome in my camp." He offered his hand for his uncle and the knight took his arm in a firm clasp.