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A Wolf in the Sands
Hiss of Snakes
The first look at King's Landing left Benjen all but impressed. Low houses, rotting thatched roofs, streets that had never been cleaned since Aegon the Conqueror had first landed there… and his father's men claimed that there was a worse living quarter here, the Flea Bottom. Benjen was glad that their way didn't run anywhere near. He didn't want to be faced with sights that would make him seethe with revulsion and pity even more. In a brief flash of his old self, Brandon had told him that the lowest layer of whatever covered the streets must be dragon shit more than two hundred years old and now, Benjen thought that it might not have been a jest. The dirt was beyond description. It was also – well, tall. The winter town looks like a celestial abode compared to this, Ben thought and the tiny building that was the Red Keep didn't make him think more highly of the city and his occupants. The castle of those who had defeated the Kings in the North should have been at least equal to Winterfell in size, according to him.
The direwolf banner won them many looks and talks, none of them favourable. Ben was sure that at one moment, he heard someone wonder if the Prince's whore had returned and someone replying that no, she wouldn't be as stupid as to arrive in full splendour since that would only make the Princess dispose of her as soon as she saw her and anyway, could someone see a woman in the group? As they traveled up Aegon's Hill, a singer warbled out the song of the Seven who had taken the wolf lord under their protection to show that he was innocent and Ben rolled his eyes. If they only knew that Father doesn't believe in their Seven, he thought and wondered how he could pray to the Old Gods in a land that didn't have godswoods. What had Ned told him about the Vale? Nothing because Ben had not thought to ask him this so important question. It doesn't matter. I'll find the answer when I get there.
When they got closer to the Red Keep, Ben looked for impaled heads but there were none. Perhaps everything was still as smooth as when his father and Brandon had left the capital.
"Benjen Stark," a steward said, coming to greet him with a bow. "Her Grace has given orders for your accommodations."
"Where is her brother?" Ben asked, eager to meet the man and be done with it.
The steward stared at him over his long nose. "I am sure Alor Gargalen will come to you as soon as he finds the time," he said and Benjen suddenly realized how much it had been to be a Stark in Winterfell, even Lord Rickard's lastborn, and how little it was to be dependent on a Dornishman's will. I hope you think it was worth it, Lya, he thought bitterly as behind him, his companions stirred. But when he turned back to hush them, they had all gone quiet already. His father had instructed them as sternly as he had him.
The chamber he was shown to was not a big one but it was comfortable. Wide windows, plenty of water, many pillows on the floor which surprised Ben – he had never seen them used this way. The door to the adjacent chamber was opened and curiosity led him to peek inside, only to draw back immediately. The bigger bedchamber smelled of aromas that were strange and too strong for him but somehow he knew that they had been left by a woman.
It was still early afternoon but all the weariness from the weeks of traveling suddenly bore down upon him. He curled on a bear hide and fell asleep without bothering to take even a light cover. Starks loved cold.
When he woke up, the sun was already going down. He stretched on the hide and smiled. He felt as refreshed as if he had slept for days.
His head hit something and he looked up and backward, upon which promptly felt a wave of dismay. What he had hit turned out to be a leg… attached to a body ending up in a chin. Ben couldn't see any higher but he had some idea who it was. He scrambled on his feet and was finally able to see a hollow face, a pair of thin arched eyebrows and eyes that were as black as the hair falling down to the man's shoulders. But the thing that most caught his notice was the man's built. He was tall and muscular but as thin as Benjen himself, yet he had clearly widened enough in the shoulders. Perhaps I can be both strong and thin, Ben thought.
"I can see my new squire has arrived," the man said. "Do take a seat. As you might have guessed, I am Alor Gargalen. I hope your travel was not too tiring?"
"No, my lord," Benjen replied, choosing a chair that had no pillows, just wood with carved arm-rests. Alor Gargalen did the same.
"Ser, if you please. I won't be a lord unless my uncle and all his children and grandchildren die which the Seven won't allow since they can't be as evil as to take people like them and force me upon Saltshore."
But his smile faded pretty soon, much like Brandon's had done so often lately when for a moment, he forgot all that had transpired recently and how close the Stranger had been.
"Ser," Ben said.
"How many people do you have with you? I'll have to make arrangements for them."
"None, Ser. They just conveyed me here. I thought you wanted me, not me and half of Winterfell."
He spoke without thinking. Only when the words were already out did he realize that this not-lord might not like being talked back to.
Alor Gargalen merely shrugged. "That is so," he said. "Do you have clothes, then? Or does your rule about just you includes that I didn't mind your stink if you only came with the ones on your back?"
Ben silently pointed with his head at the leather bag that he had carried himself. To his surprise, Gargalen smiled. "I won't leave you unattired," he said. "Or without weapons. It's my duty to provide for you, from the food you eat to the boots you wear. But I won't mind if you want to keep some things of home. The Seven knows that I needed mine."
"What did you take, Ser?" Ben asked with sudden interest. He didn't know much about fostering, only that his own case was a very unusual one. Brandon had been sent to a man he'd one day be a liege lord to; Ned had gone to a man equal to their father in rank. He had to find his footing through trials and errors. It would be good if he got to know as much about Alor Gargalen as possible.
"The wooden sword my father gave me when I was four," the man replied. "A seashell in the form of a horse head. And my two cousins. They were the most important things of all. We went there together as we did everywhere else."
That only made Benjen more miserable. He'd have no one.
"What are my duties going to be?" he asked.
Alor's black inscrutable eyes surveyed him with distance and lack of emotion that let him see how scared and overwhelmed the boy still was. "Let's proceed slowly," he said. "You'll get to know all about it soon enough. I won't demand anything that's impossible. But for now, let's focus on some other things. Do you want to take part in the evening feast?"
With everyone watching him and whispering? Ben shook his head.
"Very well," Alor said. "I envy you a little, to be honest. I promised my sister that I would attend. You can have your meal here. Today," he elaborated.
"When… when are we leaving?" Ben asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
"If the Seven are willing, in a week we'll be on our way to Dorne." Alor rose. "Come on now. My sister wants to meet you."
He said it in a way that didn't leave the boy any chance to object. Ben followed him down long halls, under ornate arches and dragon banners, wishing that they would never stop walking. He wasn't afraid of Alynna Targaryen but he had no wish to meet her either. More than once, he had deflected the blame for Lyanna's actions from her, helped her hide her breaking their father's will. Now, with her not here, he still felt the urge to defend and excuse her but he didn't know how he could do it. That was a rotten thing that she had done, and if he knew it, then she must have known it even as she had been doing it. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the dishonoured Princess said his sister's name, apologize on Lya's behalf or snap back at Alynna.
"Here we are," Gargalen finally said when they stopped in front of a dark door studded with silver. "Is my sister here?" he asked the servant who had appeared out on nowhere into the antechamber.
"Yes, my lord, but your cousin was looking for you and…"
"Ah, so Oberyn is back," Alor said and looked at Benjen. "I must go. You stay here. Alynna will summon you as soon as she's able to."
"Yes, Ser."
But it looked like the new regent wasn't in any great hurry to meet her future goodson. Benjen had already counted the horses on the tapestries thrice and the apples painted on the vaulted ceiling twice before he heard voices from the other side of the thick red curtain that separated the reception chamber from the one he was in. And as soon as he heard the very tone of the voices of the man and woman conversing, he knew that he had no wish to meet her while she was in that mood. Behind her smooth tones, there was something that was undoubtedly a snake hiss.
"So you won't swear the oath?" she was saying.
"Don't tell me that you expected I would," the man replied. "Everything might have gone your way, always, my lady, but not I. Never I. As we both knew years ago."
"You scoundrel!"
A slap rang clearly in the air and then the man spoke again, the scorn in his voice more evident than ever. "No doubt you've wanted to do it for a decade now. I am pleased that I could serve you this way, my lady. But that's the only service I will ever give you. I won't validate your theft."
"You only validate the ones you commit? Or want to, anyway."
Benjen was startled to realize that he was now close to the red curtain, dividing it ever so slightly, imperceptibly until he could see them both. The swarthy woman breathing in gasps, her fists clenched. Ben could see her thirst, her desire to curve her fingers into claws and sink them deep enough to draw blood… The red-haired man looking at her with calm derision, one of the two griffins on his cloak as red as his hair. But the brief change in his expression revealed hatred equal to hers - and then, before Benjen's wide eyes, Alynna Gargalen's own hatred flickered, faded, died. The man didn't mean anything to her now.
"He's dead," the griffin lord said. "Or have you forgotten? He's dead and only months after his death, you wed a man who could give you more – and then hurried to deprive him of his crown. Do not try to pretend innocence and defending your son. Not to me. I know you better than this, my lady. Looks like I knew you better than both your husbands. If he were alive, he'd be terrified by the lengths you were ready to go to satisfy your ambitions."
She didn't waver. "Does your complacency know no limits?" she asked and laughed. "He was always mine. One day, I'll lie down next to him as his lady and wife and you'll only be remembered as the one who tried to steal his affections from his new wife until he came to his senses and saw you for what you were. By those who even remember that a Jon Conninton ever existed in his life, that's it. As to Rhaegar, you're welcome to fight his son for the crown. Perhaps one day he'll be grateful to you. Perhaps not. But even if he is, his gratitude will never reach the extent you want. Till this day, though, you're nothing. So I advise you not to try my patience! If I so choose, your end will be more terrible than anything you dreamed for me when Myles finally turned his back on you to be with me and only me till the end of his days."
The echo of an old pain in the man's eyes made Benjen hold his breath. But when the griffin lord left, proud and tall, there was nothing if not confidence in his step, yet on his cheek, the five fingers of her ire burned.
On the other side of the curtain, the regent of the Seven Kingdoms barely waited for the sound of the closing door before falling to her knees and giving out a howl, pressing her face in her palms. Her body shook with sobs. None of them seemed to have noticed the petrified Ben, although the man had walked past him and Alynna Gargalen had been staring strsight at his face.
"By the Seven," Alor breathed, having just entered. "If I knew he was here, I would have never…"
He looked at Benjen. "Was it very ugly?" he asked.
Ben only nodded. "I don't under…"
"She never got the chance to grieve properly. When her husband died," Alor said tersely and then gave him a long look. "One of the first things I can teach you, you can use in your relationship with my niece: no woman who loves her husband loves his whores. Now, you can go. I'll expect you to be awake tomorrow at dawn."
He went to his twin, leaving Benjen to wonder if his words had been a warning about Lyanna. Was she in any danger? But he could not ask. Not yet. He didn't believe that he'd get an honest answer.