TSOTWR - Chapter VII
Chapter VII
Jon
Lysa had finally sought him out, and as Jon danced with her in the Great Hall of Riverrun, he could all but feel the revulsion rolling off her in waves. Were it not so amusing to see her squirm and grimace at the feel of his hands on her waist, he would have stopped it moments prior.
When he was satisfied she’d experienced enough discomfort to be caught off guard, he released a deep breath.
“Let us not pretend you aren’t only doing this because your father has instructed you to,” he sighed. “What has he asked you to find out about me?”
“I do not know what you mean,” the girl returned, her nose wrinkling as their eyes met.
Jon shrugged.
“Then I suppose we will just keep dancing. We both know who you really want to be doing this with.”
Her gaze snapped towards him once more, and her eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“Your father’s ward,” Jon answered. “You’ve been watching him all night, wondering if he is going to find a way for the two of you to sneak out of the feast.”
“How dare you!” Lysa whispered dangerously.
Jon merely grinned in response.
“That would be your perfect plan if it wasn’t for the fact he has been staring at your sister the whole time. He hasn’t looked at you once. He’s looking at her now.”
Lysa looked towards Baelish, who was indeed staring at Catelyn Tully. The older sister had managed to somehow coax Brandon away from the table to share a dance, and she was blushing as he led her around the floor.
They were being watched intently by Baelish, who was uncharacteristically struggling to maintain his composure.
“She’s like his sister,” Lysa said dismissively.
“What about you?”
“That is none of your business, bastard!”
Jon chuckled.
“Aye, it isn’t,” he agreed, “but you make it painfully obvious, lass. You want him, and he wanted you, just once. You gave yourself to him, and he has spurned you since. You’re not looking at him as though you fantasise about lying with him. You’re looking at him as someone who already has. I’m a bastard,” Jon reminded her. “Your Gods speak of my wanton and insatiable lust. Who would know better than me?”
Lysa laughed hollowly.
“You’re wrong, bastard,” she denied.
“He looks at your sister as though he wants to lie with her,” Jon continued, undeterred by the rebuttal. “I am only trying to open your eyes to the truth. You’ve been rather unpleasant to me, but I don’t doubt there is a man who deserves your affection more than him. Besides, what do you think your father will do when he inevitably finds out?”
Lysa said nothing as she continued to watch Baelish who had eyes for only Catelyn.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “Cat will marry Stark.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Lysa nodded.
“Father always manages to get his way.”
Jon shook his head.
“I wouldn’t expect him to this time. Brandon has his eyes set on a Northern bride, as he should. You Southerners do not understand our ways. We do not share the same gods and Lady Catelyn will never be seen as a true Northerner. Neither will any children born to her.”
Jon frowned at the thought as he questioned what he was doing.
If Catelyn didn’t marry Ned and Brandon lived as he intended, then he would never see Rob nor the others he considered his brothers and sisters again.
It was a realisation that saddened him, and he felt conflicted, though he knew he could not orchestrate the marriage between Ned and Catelyn, even if Brandon was to live.
Hoster would be unlikely to agree to any match other than one to the heir of the North.
Even if he was, Jon was not inclined to see Ned and Catelyn married. He despised the woman and how she’d always looked down on him.
No, that marriage would not come to fruition despite the changes it would instil that he could only hope were for the best. He’d already mourned for them all, and they wouldn’t be the same as those he’d lost throughout the years.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I believe I am being summoned,” Jon offered by way of parting before returning towards Lyanna, who had been dancing with the young and clumsy Edmure Tully.
Lyanna
Her feet were sore and swollen from where Edmure Tully had stepped on them several times throughout their dance, and Lyanna scowled as Jon approached, smirking at her knowingly.
“My feet!” she groaned.
As expected, the man showed her no sympathy, and Lyanna pouted.
“It’s not funny,” she grumbled.
“I had to dance with Lysa.”
Lyanna’s grimace had nothing to do with the discomfort caused by her feet. She truly felt for Jon. Lysa Tully was perhaps the most sour girl she’d had the displeasure of meeting.
“Brandon doesn’t look too pleased, does he?”
Jon shook his head.
“He’s not used to the Southern political games,” he sighed. “We both know why she’s dancing with him.”
“She seems to be enjoying it.”
Catelyn’s cheeks were red, perhaps from the wine she had consumed, but she was giggling like a swooning maid as Brandon led her around to the sound of the music.
“Barbery seems to be having fun.”
The Ryswell girl was watching the pair closely, her eyes full of mirth at Brandon’s discomfort. Evidently, she was not threatened by the Tully girl.
Catelyn was beautiful in a Southernly aesthetic way, much unlike her pinched-featured younger sister. Lysa was no beauty and likely never would be.
Not that such a thing mattered to Lyanna.
Although beauty was coveted in the North as it was anywhere else, it meant little if you had nothing else to offer. The land was harsh and required skill to survive.
Wood needed to be gathered, livestock milked and slaughtered, and crops harvested, which required all to assist with. Just because you were beautiful, that didn’t mean you were allowed to slack.
“I was hoping to have a word with you, Jon Snow.”
Lyanna frowned at the interruption of the Blackfish but nodded her consent as she moved to sit with the Greatjon and the other Northerners Jon had instructed to stay nearby.
The hulking man had been watching her closely since they’d arrived, and Lyanna suspected he was doing so under Jon’s instruction.
“Having fun, lass?” Umber asked.
“Northern feasts are better.”
“Aye, and don’t you forget it,” the Greatjon chuckled. “Who wants him now?”
“The Blackfish.”
The Greatjon frowned as he scanned the room.
He was oddly protective of Jon despite the other man not needing such protection.
Nonetheless, it warmed Lyanna to see.
To the Northerners, Jon was one of their own, and she had no doubt that if he ever needed it, they would be there for him.
“Come on, lass, you can dance with me,” the Greatjon declared as he pulled Lyanna to her feet. “Don’t worry, I won’t stand on you, little wolf. It would hurt a lot more than some southern pansy stepping on your paws.”
Lyanna laughed, though she watched her step carefully as Jon Umber all but dragged her around the Great Hall, his booming laughter echoing off the walls over the music as she struggled to keep the frantic pace he’d chosen.
Jon
“I don’t suppose my brother has apologised to you,” the Blackfish grumbled as he poured each of them a cup of ale.
“I wasn’t expecting him,” Jon replied with a shrug.
“Fool,” Brynden muttered before draining his cup. “He’s too proud for his own good.”
“No, he just doesn’t think he has slighted me,” Jon pointed out. “He will offer Brandon an apology for any unintentional slight.”
The Blackfish nodded.
“You’re very perceptive for a bastard. If I didn’t know better, I would say you have a solid grounding in how the world works at the very top.”
“The top and the bottom aren’t so different. Those at the top only have the advantage of using those at the bottom to do their dirty work. Their hands are clean, but their consciences much filthier.”
The Blackfish nodded as he chuckled.
“True.”
They drank in silence for a while as they watched the festivities unfolding around them.
“Are the Northern feasts like this?”
“Not quite,” Jon answered. “There’s drinking, dancing, and singing, but usually, by now, there would have been a few brawls. They’re behaving themselves tonight. As far as most Northerners are concerned, a feast isn’t a feast without punches being thrown.”
Brynden snorted.
“Ours are rather dull affairs in the Riverlands. Hoster is big on propriety. It gets rather dull here at times.”
“You like to travel?”
“I’ve seen more of the world than most, but this will always be my home. I long for it after some moons away.”
Jon nodded his understanding.
“Aye, I already miss the North.”
Brynden clapped him smartly on the shoulder.
“Are you looking forward to the tourney, at least?”
“I’d rather do without it,” Jon replied honestly. “I’m only going because she is,” he added, nodding towards Lyanna.
“How did you come to be her Sworn Sword?” Brynden asked curiously.
“She saved my life and earned the offer of my protection. I proved myself worthy, and I have been with her since.”
“You’re an honourable man.”
“When it matters. Honour will only get you so far, and often, that is a knife in the back by those who lack it.”
Brynden eyed him speculatively for a moment before nodding.
“You have experienced betrayal.”
“And learned much from it,” Jon assured the man.
The Blackfish raised his cup to him in acknowledgement before taking a sip.
“For what it is worth, you have my apology, Jon Snow,” he offered.
“Truthfully and with respect, it is worth more coming from you than your brother. There’s a chance you might mean it.”
Brynden laughed as he nodded.
“You’re an interesting man. Your people speak highly of you and even look to you. It wasn’t lost on me that when you told Lord Umber to hold his tongue, he did.”
“The Greatjon is one of the exceptions. There are many Lords of the North that do not approve of me, but I am not here to impress them. I have my duty and I am content with my lot.”
“If only others could be so,” Brynden muttered.
“You mean your brother and his intention to see Brandon married to Lady Catelyn?”
“It’s not such a secret then,” the Blackfish snorted. “Hoster is ambitious in his own way, but with this…I’m not sure. He is almost convinced that war is coming and he wishes to form an alliance with the North to protect the Riverlands.”
“I don’t see anything wrong in that,” Jon replied. “It is honourable to want to keep your land and people safe. The problem he faces is that Brandon has his heart set on another and the Northerners are mistrustful of outsiders. They would never truly accept a Southron woman as the Lady of Winterfell. They would be respectful towards the name she carries, but to them, she would always be a southerner.”
“I told Hoster the same, but he didn’t listen. Maybe he will get the message now,” Brynden sighed as he nodded towards where Brandon and Barbery were dancing together.
“Well, if his ward has anything to do with it, Lady Catelyn won’t marry anyone.”
“Baelish?” Brynden asked with a frown.
“Aye, he’s been watching her very closely, but I think the real problem is Lady Lysa.”
“Lysa?”
“She’s besotted with him and I fear he has already taken advantage of that.”
Brynden narrowed his eyes as he looked between the three of them.
Baelish was indeed watching Catelyn whilst Lysa was watching him with a forlorn expression. Catelyn was too busy watching Brandon to notice either of them.
“No, that can’t be right,” Brynden whispered. “Baelish? He’s a nosy little cunt but I can’t see him going against Hoster like this.”
“I’m only telling you what Lysa all but confirmed for me whilst we were dancing. I noticed her watching him and it took little for her to let slip. It seems as though he took advantage of her affection for him.”
“Are you sure of this, Snow? If I mention this to my brother and you’ve got it wrong…”
Jon held up his hands.
“I wish I was,” he said solemnly. “I don’t like to be the bearer of bad news but it would be wrong in this instant to say nothing. If I had any doubt as to what I know, I wouldn’t even mention it on the chance that they were innocent.”
The Blackfish nodded as he deflated.
“They’re often found together,” he sighed. “Not in any scandalous way, but I see how she looks at him. I’ve never been a man tempted by the flesh, but I’m no fool. I’ve been around soldiers and have seen it for myself. I suppose I will have to mention it to Hoster, but not that it came from you. He’d never believe it for a moment if he knew,” he finished as he stood and drained his cup. “I’d like to ride with the Northerners when we leave for Harrenhal, so long as I wouldn’t be intruding.”
“You’re most welcome,” Jon replied, doing his utmost to conceal his smirk as the Blackfish took his leave to join his brother, his expression troubled, though not so much as Baelish would be.
“You’re looking rather pleased with yourself,” Lyanna commented as she took a seat next to him.
Jon placed his hand on the jug of ale to prevent her from pouring herself a cup.
“You’ve had enough.”
“How do you know?”
“Because your cheeks are red, and you’re looking for trouble.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Lyanna narrowed her eyes at him.
“I think I should go to bed,” she declared.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Jon agreed. “Come on, I’ll guard you tonight and have Ghost with you for a few hours in the morning before we set off.”
Lyanna nodded and looped her arm through his own, completing the scandalous image by leaning her head on his shoulder.
Jon pointedly ignored the looks of the Riverlanders and offered a nod to Brandon as they passed him on their way to the exit. The heir of Winterfell smiled gratefully before he returned to the dancefloor with Barbery, he too ignoring the looks of disapproval from their hosts.
If Hoster Tully was still harbouring thoughts of seeing Brandon married to his daughter, he would undoubtedly be having second thoughts by now.
Even more so when the Blackfish revealed what he’d learned from Jon only a short while ago.
Thoughts of seeing Brandon married to Catelyn would be far from his mind whilst he addressed the scandal within his own family, likely doing all he could to ensure none would learn of what happened between Lysa and Baelish.
For Jon, it could prove to be useful information in the future, and he would keep it to himself unless it proved valuable otherwise.
Along the way, he’d learned that knowledge was power that cunning would get him far. He’d seen the likes of Baelish and Cersei Lannister use it to great effect, as had Daenerys.
Being as honourable as he’d been raised to be by Ned Stark had only served to get him killed by his brothers of the Night’s Watch and to fall foul of others he’d come across throughout his life.
If Jon was going to succeed where he’d already failed, he knew he needed to play the game, and now, it truly was afoot.
Brandon
The mood had shifted at the table when he returned, and Brandon wondered if he’d offended Hoster Tully more than he’d intended by attending the feast with Barbery Ryswell on his arm.
He’d wanted to state his intentions clearly to the man but not offend him so deeply that it created a rift between his house and the Tullys.
A frown creased his brow as Hoster suddenly stood, appearing to be troubled by something.
“You have my apologies, Lord Brandon,” he murmured. “Something has been raised that requires my immediate attention. Please, my hospitality is still yours. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Brynden, I would have them brought to my solar at first light,” he added to his equally troubled brother.
The man nodded, and Hoster took his leave of the hall.
“Is it something I can help with?” Brandon asked the Blackfish.
“I’m afraid not. It is something of a domestic issue that has rightly displeased my brother. I expect it will be remedied by the morning once Hoster has looked into the matter himself.”
Brandon nodded though he did wonder what had soured Tullys mood so much that he would forgo social propriety by leaving the feast early.
“I have discussed the matter with Jon Snow, and he assures me you would be amenable, but I intend to travel with your party in the morning,” the Blackfish informed him. “I have spent little time with Northerners and would like to do so.”
“You are most welcome,” Brandon replied with a nod.
The Blackfish was one of few people he’d been introduced to at Rivverun that he was not tempted to run through with his blade. Hoster was polite enough to him, but Brandon suspected that was mostly due to the man wanting to see him wed to his daughter.
“Then I shall retire for the evening myself,” Brynden declared. “Sleep well, Lord Brandon.”
“And you, Lord Tully,” Brandon returned.
Brynden did indeed leave the hall, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword almost comfortingly.
“Did I miss something?” Brandon asked Barbery.
The woman shrugged.
“The Blackfish was speaking with Jon earlier before he returned to the table. I saw him speaking with Hoster.”
Brandon frowned once more.
“Do you think Jon is in trouble?”
Barbery shook her head.
“No, Tully would have raised it with you if something had happened. He’s already offended many of us, and he would not risk doing so further. I expect it is something else, but I would be wary. These are not our people, Stark.”
“Stark again, is it?”
“Dance with me again, and that might change.”
Brandon chuckled as he offered Barbery his hand and the two of them made their way to the dancefloor once again to share in what little merriment remained of the evening.
The Blackfish
He had been unable to sleep, and in lieu of that, he’d spent the night wandering the halls of Riverrun and even ventured through the raucous Northern campsite, returning to the keep just as the sun was cresting the horizon.
It was going to be a long day, and one Brynden suspected would be unpleasant for some.
With a sigh, he made his way towards the family wing knowing that Hoster would be waiting for him to bring Lysa to his solar. The girl likely had no idea what she would be facing in the coming moments, but it would undoubtedly change things.
Brynden just hoped his older brother exercised some restraint.
It would not do well for the entire seven kingdoms to become privy to their family business, after all.
“Lysa?” he called as he knocked on her door.
It opened a moment later and the sleepy girl eyed him questioningly though bleary eyes.
“Uncle Brynden, what’s happening?”
She was no fool.
He’d never roused her from her sleep before this morning so she immediately suspected that all was not well.
“Your father wishes to see you immediately. I’m to take you to him.”
“Why?”
“You will learn of it from him,” Brynden said firmly. “Dress. I will wait for you.”
With a frown, the girl closed the door, and Brynden leaned against the wall.
Yes, it would indeed be an unpleasant day, even before those of the Riverlands and the North departed for Harrenhal in only a matter of hours.
A confused Lysa emerged from her room a few moments later, tying her hair into a ponytail, and Brynden gestured for her to follow. He was deeply fond of both his nieces and nephew, and if what Jon Snow proved to be true, he knew that he would be disappointed.
Despite his wife dying whilst birthing a stillborn son, Lysa, Catelyn, and Edmure had been raised well enough to know the ramifications of such things. Baelish was from a minor house and not worthy of a match with his own.
Would Hoster force them to marry?
No, he would not.
To maintain propriety, he would not have the boy publicly punished for the disrespect shown, but Baelish would indeed face the wrath of the Lord of Riverrun.
“Are you going to stay?” Lysa asked nervously as they reached the solar.
Brynden nodded as he knocked.
“Come in.”
Hoster’s dour expression matched the voice in which he’d bid them to enter, and his eyes immediately locked onto his daughter. Even through his anger, Brynden could see his brother was exhausted. He’d likely been up all night as he had, investigating what he’d learned.
“What is it, Father?”
Hoster shook his head.
“Information has reached me, Lysa, and I find it to be most troubling. I would have the truth from you. Mind, you should be aware that I already know everything. I am giving you the opportunity to be honest. Do not disappoint me any more than you already have.”
“I don’t know what you could possibly mean, Father.”
Hoster’s nostrils flared as he leaned back in his chair.
“I am referring to the nature of your relationship with my ward.”
Brynden felt Lysa stiffen next to him and her eyes widened briefly before she composed herself.
“There is nothing to the nature of our relationship,” she denied and Brynden shook his head at the blatant dishonesty.
This would end badly for the girl.
“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” Hoster roared as he stood, slamming his hand on the desk. “Do not lie to me.”
Lysa began to tremble, her eyes welling with tears at the sight of her furious father.
“I have spoken with the maids who have seen you sneaking into his room, and even the woman who tends to the horses who caught you in the stable. The very same one Petyr blackmailed to keep silent. She was terrified that she would lose her place here from the lies he intended to feed me should she even think of coming to me with what she knew.”
“Father, I…”
“Choose your next words carefully, girl,” Hoster warned.
Lysa said nothing for a moment as she gathered her courage before meeting her father’s gaze.
“I love him,” she whispered fiercely. “You would never allow it, but I love him.”
“So, you admit it?”
Lysa remained silent but continued to stare at Hoster defiantly.
“Your silence says it all,” he declared tiredly. “Go to your room. You are to remain there until I say otherwise.”
“What about the tourney?”
“You will not be going to the tourney!” Hoster snapped. “You will be fortunate to see the light of day for moons to come, young lady. Now, get out of my sight!”
Lysa stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her, and Hoster deflated.
“Get the boy,” he instructed simply.
With a nod, Brynden took his leave and made his way to the quarters so graciously given to Baelish when he’d arrive a few years prior.
Taking a moment to calm his own anger, Brynden knocked on the door, resisting the urge to run the young man through with his blade when he answered with his pliant, smug grin.
“Lord Hoster wishes to speak with you.”
“I am at his service,” Baelish replied with a bow. “Lead the way, Lord Brynden.”
Once more, the Blackfish had to resist the urge to inflict harm upon the young man, doing so only at the prospect of what was to come. A part of him longed for Hoster to have Baelish flogged. Perhaps that would teach him something, though he doubted it.
People like Baelish who believed they were cleverer than all others never did learn from such lessons.
“You sent for me, Lord Hoster,” Baelish greeted the Lord of Riverrun when they reached the study.
“I did,” Hoster confirmed. “I see no reason to stand on ceremony. You are to pack your belongings and leave my home.”
“Excuse me?” Baelish asked, taken aback by the command.
“Do not tell me you are as deaf as you are disrespectful, boy! I know what you have done to my daughter and I will not tolerate your presence any longer. You have until sunset to be out of Riverrun and on your way back to the Fingers. You are no longer welcome here.”
“I’m afraid I cannot profess to know what you are referring to, Lord Hoster.”
“YOU TOOK LYSA’S MAIDENHOOD!”
Baelish frowned, his confusion almost convincing.
“Did Lysa tell you that? I am aware that she holds certain affections for me, my lord, but I have never acted on or taken advantage of them. I know I should have discussed it with you, but I did not wish to embarrass the girl. She is a sensitive soul, and I would not see her ridiculed for feeling such a way for someone below her station.”
The urge to throttle Baelish was almost overwhelming for Brynden, more so with every lie he spilled.
“Of course, it is your prerogative what is to be done with me. As your ward, I will accept my dismissal in the knowledge I have done nothing to slight you or yours.”
“Then accept and remove yourself from my sight,” Hoster commanded. “Should you ever get the urge to return, know that only cold steel will await you.”
Baelish offered Hoster a bow before taking his leave of the room.
“It would be best to kill him,” Brynden murmured. “He is young but will become a master of deception.”
Hoster hummed as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.
“Despite what he has done, brother, he is still like a son to me. I took him in and he has served me well.”
“I think that you are making a mistake.”
Hoster said nothing else and lost himself in thought, so Brynden decided to get some rest for himself before they would depart for Harrenhal later in the day.
Jon
He had watched as those attending the tourney from the many houses of the Riverlands arrived in droves, recognising all of the sigils they bore as they did so; Houses Bracken, Blackwood, Mallister, and Frey all amongst them.
They each took a spot outside the walls of Riverrun, waiting for the departure that would come when the Tully party was ready.
Jon, however, was waiting for something else entirely.
He’d been watching an movement, any sign for a small group taking their leave of the keep and heading east to where Baelish hailed from.
He could not imagine Hoster Tully taking the news of what had occurred between his ward and daughter well, and if he did not kill the man, he would banish him at the very least.
Jon was hoping for the latter.
Baelish, in any life, would be a threat to peace through his underhand dealings, his lies, and his own ambition.
He simply could not be allowed to live.
With that in mind, he continued watching, hoping the man would leave before those heading further south to Harrenhal.
“You are looking rather intense, Jon,” Brandon commented as he joined him.
“There’s a lot of Riverlanders around us. They may not be enemies, but they’re not allies.”
“Are you expecting trouble?”
Jon shook his head.
“No, but I’d rather be prepared for it than caught unexpectedly.”
Brandon guffawed as he slapped him on the shoulder.
“You need a woman, Jon, and not one that only bosses you around like my sister. I mean a real woman.”
“I am a real woman,” Lyanna said hotly as she approached and punched Brandon on the shoulder. “Don’t you forget it.”
Brandon smirked at her and ruffled her hair.
“We’ll never find you a husband,” he sighed amusedly. “Maybe Father should be looking for a wife for you.”
“Maybe you should shut up,” Lyanna retorted, scowling at her older brother.
Brandon held up his hands placatingly.
“Well, it looks as though we are finally going to be moving,” he declared, nodding towards the keep of Riverrun where a large contingency of men and women were exiting the gates.
The Blackfish was leading them, his expression rather grim as he escorted a smug-looking Baelish at his side.
“Come on, let’s get our lot gathered up,” Brandon instructed. “We’ll let this lot lead. If there’s any trouble ahead, they can handle it.”
Jon nodded his agreement as he joined the Stark heir, ensuring Lyanna was with him.
Having already packed, it didn’t take long for the Northerners to form up, and for the Blackfish to join them as he’d declared the previous night.
“Didn’t sleep much?” Jon asked.
Brynden shook his head.
“Your revelation caused quite the stir,” he murmured. “You were right and that is why Baelish is with us. He will be coming as far as Harrenhal, and then an escort will be taking him back to the Vale.”
“I’m sorry,” Jon offered sincerely. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t certain. Lord Hoster does not seem to be the kind of man to tolerate such things.”
“He is not,” Brynden agreed, “and there is no need for apologies, Jon Snow. You have done a service to my family, one I am grateful for. I can finally be rid of the little shit.”
“Aye,” Jon returned as he mounted his horse, his gaze shifting once more towards Baelish.
The man coming along to Harrenhal was unexpected, but would perhaps provide him with the opportunity to be rid of him once and for all.
“LET’S GO!” Brandon called, leading the Northerners behind the column of those hailing from the Riverlands.
Jon followed with Lyanna and Ghost at his side, and the Blackfish on the other.
Baelish trailed behind, still grinning, though Jon suspected such an expression would indeed be short-lived.
Elia
They had arrived at Harrenhal the previous day at the behest of Lord Whent who wished to give them a welcome worthy of their station. Both she and Rhaegar would have preferred to arrive with the other kingdoms, but they could not deny the man’s hospitality.
Nonetheless, she was grateful when those of the Westerlands had begun filing in through the enormous gates a little after sunrise. They were soon followed by those of the Vale, and then the Stormlands meaning that Whent’s focus was required elsewhere.
“Do you think the Iron Islanders will come?” Ashara asked curiously.
“They won’t if they know what is good for them,” Oberyn answered darkly. “I expect there will be violence between them and the Northerners.”
“Ah, the unpleasantness leading to Lord Drumm losing his hand,” Rhaegar murmured. “It would perhaps be best if they did not attend.”
“Drumm?” Ashara asked.
“The fool led a raiding party into the Northern lands. They burned down two villages and attempted to take several salt wives for themselves. Rickard Stark did not take kindly to that.”
“He cut off another Lord’s hand?” Ashara gasped.
“No,” Oberyn denied. “From what I heard, it was a Northern bastard that did that, and then killed Andrik the Unsmiling.”
“Well, I suppose it serves Drumm right,” Rhaegar lamented. “He should not have been invading the North, even if my Father was furious at the reprisals.”
Ashara looked at Elia questioningly.
“Stark removed all of the invader’s hands,” she explained.
“But it is not the name Stark they sing the praises of,” Oberyn chuckled as he leaned back in his chair to stretch his legs. “It is the bastard.”
“What bastard?”
Oberyn shrugged and Elia tutted.
“I thought you were supposed to be gathering information.”
“I have been,” he said defensively, “I just didn’t quite make it to the brothels of the North. They speak of the Northern bastard as far south as Gulltown.”
“I don’t suppose Drumm was happy that a bastard took his hand.”
“And his sword,” Oberyn laughed. “The bastard took Redrain for himself.”
“Didn’t Stark try to take it?”
Oberyn shook his head as he picked up an apple.
“You know these Northerners and their honour. It’s not like Stark needs it. He has a great sword made of Valyrian steel. I hear it is most impressive.”
“Are we expecting the North?” Ashara asked.
“They have been invited,” Rhaegar assured her. “Whether they come or not is another thing. When was the last time you met a Northerner?”
Elia couldn’t remember, but as she watched those from the Riverland begin to flood through the gates, she caught sight of those following behind. Garbed in leather and furs, both the men and the women were rugged in appearance, hardened by the harsh conditions they lived in.
“I suppose that answers the question of whether or not they will be here,” she said pointedly, nodding to the group.
“By the gods, look at the size of them,” Ashara exclaimed, her eyes widening.
It did appear that the Northerners were bigger and burlier than most southern men she’d ever seen, though there were those among them that did not seem to fit in.
“Is that a fucking wolf?” Oberyn choked, pointing to what looked to be a small horse.
“It is,” Elia whispered, eyeing the beast n a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
It was walking in step with a leather-clad man who was one that did not quite fit in with what seemed to be a typical Northerner. His build was slighter, his beard neatly trimmed, and he carried a sword that had the pommel in the image of the wolf walking beside him.
“The White Wolf of the North,” she deduced.
The group watched him carefully as he escorted a young woman, his eyes scanning those that came a little too close to what he deemed to be comfortable.
“What is a Northern bastard doing with a direwolf?” Oberyn asked, speaking more to himself than any other. “Isn’t that the symbol of the Starks?”
“It is,” Rhaegar confirmed, his own gaze remaining fixed on the man.
Both Elia and Ashara were watching him too until he vanished from sight.
“You did not think to mention he had a direwolf as a companion?” Elia sighed at her brother.
“No one spoke of his wolf,” Oberyn murmured thoughtfully. “They spoke of him and his prowess with a sword, but there was no mention of a wolf.”
“Well, he certainly is interesting,” Ashara giggled, her indigo eyes sparkling with amusement. “Do you think he will compete?”
“I do not see why he would travel so far if that wasn’t his intention,” Rhaegar answered. “My concern is just how tame the wolf is. If that decides to attack…”
He broke off, shaking his head.
“I don’t think anyone would bring a creature like that if it wasn’t tame,” Elia assured him. “Is this one of those times you wish you had a dragon?”
Rhaegar chuckled.
“As much as I wish I was a Targaryen of old, I am grateful they are not at our disposal. Could you imagine my father with one?”
It did not bear to think about such a thing. If Aerys had a dragon, the world would be a deeply unpleasant place. It was already bad enough with him merely on the throne.
“There he is!” Ashara exclaimed once more as she spotted the curious Northerner.
He was without the wolf this time, walking towards another group of Northerners who were setting up their camp a short distance away. When he reached them, they all turned to greet him.
“My, he really is quite interesting, isn’t he?” Ashara whispered conspiratorially.
“Are you going to behave yourself?” Elia snorted.
“I was thinking about it, but a man like that could certainly change my mind.”
Elia could only shake her head as her pleading look towards her brother was ignored in favour of the man grinning.
She should have known she’d get no support from Oberyn.
The man had quite the penchant for trouble himself, so it was not as though he would discourage the woman from whatever thoughts were running through her mind.