Aaronj227: I'll continue with my FAIRLY interesting chapters.
ArchAngel319: I always have fun writing… especially when one is meant to be revising for exams or something else equally important.
Shade: Thank you for the suggestion.
CunningSlytherin: I hope I delivered Tywin. Cunning, calculating, cautious… or at least I tried.
Hail King Cerion: I've already replied to you.
Jgs237: And you've been dealt with in a PM.
Ariaofrosewood: Talked to you already.
372259: I thought it would be in his nature to save the Direwolves, both animal and human. Also, behold the solution.
Tony McNucklz: With more reviews I'll definitely have more writing 😉
Reader: Brilliant username by the way. I believe the archetype you are searching for it called 'flawed hero' or 'anti-hero', which is what Leopold is. I hate perfect heroes, personally.
The Three Stoogies: I'll keep the writing up if you keep the reviews up 😉
Dedon53: great review.
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Leopold dreamed of falling.
The nightmares took many forms. Sometimes it was himself that was falling from a horse or from a tower. Other times he dreamed of pushing someone else out of a window into a bottomless pit. Occasionally, it was a horse that pushed him. Always he woke up to a cold sweat and a direwolf's wet kisses.
The grey creatures slobbered him in tender licks until he woke up and one or both would stay with him until the boy fell back into sleep, which was rare. If the gods chose to plague him with nightmares, it was a sure sign that he was not to sleep. He resorted to reading under an oil lamp with his head propped up by a wolf's body until their camp would push on west to his inheritance.
"Thanks, girl," Leopold ruffled the fur, not bothering to distinct which wolf it was under the dim glow of the dying campfire.
That night was an especially gruesome dream. He dreamed of himself and Arya in the Broken Tower, only his lower half belonged to a horse – he was a centaur. He, in his horse-like appearance, was forcing himself onto Arya and when Bran caught them in the window Leopold used his horse hind legs to kick the boy out the window. It was a horrible kind of dream.
The Prince looked at the camp. Most of his men were asleep and there were two guards on watch. He couldn't be bothered to light a lamp for his books, so he just lay there beside the wolf. It was ample opportunity to think about what was to come.
Casterly Rock was only half a day's ride now. He'd finally be meeting the great Tywin Lannister for the first time.
It was a strange situation. Despite being the man's immediate and recognised Heir, Leopold had never met the man. Yes, his grandfather came to King's Landing for the birth of each of his grandchildren, but the last time was when Tommen was born, and Leopold was 4 years old at the time. He had no memory of the man he was to inherit the titles and lands from.
He had heard a lot about him though. How rich and powerful the Old Lion was a common tale even in Winterfell. Lord Stark did not like to talk about Robert's Rebellion, but other sources had informed Leopold of the Sack of King's Landing and the numerous war crimes that could be attributed to Tywin Lannister. Other sources also told him of Tywin's legacy as Hand of the King and how the kingdom prospered under his rule and of course, about the Raynes of Castamere. Leopold had grown up on nothing but stories of the man. He sounded intimidating.
It was with doubt that Leopold viewed the 'solution' that he promised to Arya. It was a simple plan: view the situation, find leverage and gamble from there. The plan sounded as confident as he felt about it. Perhaps that was why he didn't tell Arya anything of it. She looked a little disappointed when he told her that their engagement could be annulled, which brought a sudden mad smile to his golden face.
She wanted to be married to him.
He had to deliver it now.
Leopold woke the entire camp. It was time that they carried on their journey into the belly of the beast.
Both wolves were out hunting. They always hunted after he was awake, and they always found his horses after the hunt, trailing by his steed with a dead, bloody rabbit in their throats.
"Your Highness," one of his guards came up to him. "The camp is ready. Would you like help onto your horse?"
"That would be appreciated," the Prince stretched out of his arms to the guard, like a little boy wanting to be picked up by his mother. The strong soldier settled him onto his horse with ease. "It is only half a day's ride, or am I mistaken?"
"Yes, Your Highness," the guard said as he ensured the legs were strapped properly.
"Bollocks," Leopold swore under his breath. It was then that Lady came back with a thrashing rabbit barred between her teeth. She sat down and crunched its neck. Blood dirtied her well-groomed coat. For a creature so gentle, she could kill her prey effectively. "Tasty, my Lady?" Leopold smirked, watching the wolf, who responded by chewing at him in delight. Nymeria was nowhere in sight. He turned to the camp of twenty red cloaks. "Onwards."
They rode for hours in peace and quiet, before they were set upon.
A great, male mountain lion attacked their party.
A fierce, terrifying beast whose black eyes were wild with bloodlust. He had pounced on one of the red-cloaks and tore out the man's throat before anyone could do anything. A frenzy of roars, screams and swords began. The direwolf tried to face him but she was a lot smaller and weaker than the great lion. He dealt with her with a sharp swat in the muzzle. The red cloaks were all mounted, so it was more difficult to spear the allusive lion down below. Five men rode up to Leopold to shield their Prince, while the others fought the blood thirsty creature. The vicious beast slaughtered three men, wounding another two, before Leopold rode up to the beast, waving a lighted torch and rearing his horse. Wounded and scared of the fire, the lion fled back into the woods.
"How many are dead?" Leopold asked his captain, relieved that the threat was over.
"Three dead. Two wounded."
"Load the wounded with a rider. Toss the bodies of the men on the spare horses. Is the direwolf alive?"
"Yes, Your Highness" another man shouted, tending to the wolf. Slowly, she recovered consciousness. She was healthy enough to resume her trot beside the Prince.
"I do hope your sister hasn't gotten herself into a similar kind of trouble as we did. Arya would kill me," Leopold told the wolf. Lady only whined in response. She didn't seem sad or in mourning, so Leopold assumed that Nymeria was fine. The two could feel when the other was in harm's way.
Nymeria proved to be her owner's pet and did get herself into trouble. She came up to Leopold's side with something other than a rabbit in between her teeth. When Leopold looked at her, he did a double take. "Nymeria!" The party stopped, and the Prince dismounted from his horse.
She held a small, golden lion cub, who's paws were brittle pillows that hid long, black claws. The eyes were the colour of jades. His coat was softer than the wolfs'. It was a tender beast – not yet a killer. Nymeria proudly wagged her tail and looked at the Prince expectantly.
Leopold took the cub with him into the saddle and the pup purred in delight. Their party was becoming more bestial by the day.
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Casterly Rock was as grand as its songs made it out to be. Overlooking the western coast, the cream stronghold was more a palace of luxury than a fortress. It towered over the city of Lannisport beneath it, evidently reminding its people that it was their dread overlord. The red banners flew proudly over and under head and the snarling face of a lion decorated every gate, wall and chamber pot.
So, this was Leopold's inheritance: a perfect castle overlooking a sea, vast green lands perfect for farming and dozens of lords who were pledged to serve him in whatever way he saw fit. He could live with that.
Tywin Lannister greeted his grandson himself. He was a stoic man and welcomed the Prince with the utmost sterility. Instantly, Leopold felt that it was a different kind of stoicism from the Starks – this man bore no love for anyone.
With difficulty, Leopold dismounted from his horse and waited for his crutches to be brought to him by some servant. He noticed how fiercely the Old Lion glared at his mangled legs.
"Casterly Rock welcomes you, Prince Leopold," Tywin, tall, proud and stern, gave the first greeting.
"Thank you, Lord Lannister," Leopold tried his best not to hobble when he neared the man. He failed, he thought. Tywin's glaring gaze at his greatest weakness was clear for all to see.
"How fares the king?"
"Well enough, my lord." Leopold was too focused on the glaring green eyes of his grandfather to even think about the king's health.
"How was your journey?"
"Eventful, my lord."
A brow was raised. "Oh?"
"We were set upon by a mountain lion, my lord," the captain of Leopold's guard stated. "Killed three men. Wounded two. The brave Prince scared it away with a torch."
"A bad omen," Tywin's iron voice boomed in Leopold's ears.
"Not entirely, my lord," Leopold took the cub from his saddlebag. "One of my wolves brought me a gift." In his arms, the cub mewled like a small kitten.
"One of your wolves?" Tywin's glare turned to the two grey creatures that stalked around Leopold's feet.
"Yes. I lived with the Starks. They gifted me with two wolves." Lying was perhaps not the best way to start the relationship with his grandfather, but he sensed that if he said that they were under his protection Tywin Lannister would laugh. Though the thought of Tywin laughing was an odd one. "They're very good at protecting me from harm," another lie. Nice going, Leo, he thought.
"I see." Tywin did not look very pleased. "Very well. My servants will escort you to your chambers, Your Highness. You will have time to rest from your journey. I'm sure it was a long one. In the evening, you are expected to attend dinner with myself and the Lannisters of Lannisport. If you wish, you may roam the castle as freely as you want. It is, after all, your home now."
It didn't feel like home. From the outside, it looked sun-kissed, creamy and warm. Once Leopold had ridden through its gates and dismounted his horse, it felt colder than the North ever could be.
I am not the Heir that Tywin expected. The thought was prevalent in his mind as he ascended the marble stairs. He was a cripple, he was no warrior, and his only qualification was crawling out of his mother's womb.
Leopold pictured the perfect Heir of Tywin. It was a formidable, powerful man who could be cruel and daunting, terrifying and awe-inspiring. He stood tall and straight without help. He could command respect in the battlefield, diplomatic talks, throne room and the bed. Someone with the strength of Hodor, beauty of Jaime, battle brilliance of Robert and wit of Tyrion. Perhaps bringing the animals was a mistake – it showed a weakness; a sense of mercy for living creatures and a family that was not his own.
"Here are your chambers, Your Highness," the servant said. Leopold nodded to him gratefully. The man was patient with his slow legs.
"Whose rooms did these belong to before?" When he arrived in Winterfell, he inquired the same question. His rooms were the best of the guest rooms in Winterfell.
"Ser Jaime, Your Highness," the servant said. "These are the traditional rooms of the Heir of Casterly Rock."
Father's rooms.
"And where are my mother's rooms?"
"The door opposite." Of course, Leopold thought dourly. "If Your Highness would like to see them, he is welcome. No one resides there."
"And my uncle Tyrion's rooms? Are they on this same floor?"
The servant looked at his shoes, suddenly. "No, my prince. Lord Tyrion's rooms are several stairs down below. No one lives in them and Your Highness would not like it down there. It's… not the most pleasant of abodes." The servant didn't seem to harbour any more love for the Imp than the Lord did.
"Thank you. That will be all for now." The servant bowed and left.
Leopold would explore Uncle Brain's 'unpleasant abode' later. For now, he had what remained of his parent's childhood. The history of the people who gave birth to him was within these very walls. Ghosts of memories and shivers of the past that Leopold had no inkling of haunted these stone structures.
Jaime's chambers were large – it was a proper Heir's chambers. There was the main bedroom, complete with a king-sized four poster bed. Connecting to the main bedroom, there was what must have been a study, but it had spent the larger part of the last 40 years being an armoury – full of Jaime's favourite swords and shields. The centre piece was Jaime's golden armour resting on a mannequin, waiting for its owner to don it again. There was a balcony with the view of the most splendid sunset and the most beautiful city. There was also a wide, comfortable solar. 'Rooms' in Casterly Rock was code for 'luxurious apartments'.
Going North had done a heap of good for the Prince, not least because he grew to appreciate the sun's warmth, the bright views and the luxury that his inheritance truly presented.
It was difficult to imagine that these rooms were now his. This was his home until he became Lord of Casterly Rock, by which he would move to the Lord's Chambers. The last time he had a home like this was in King's Landing, but they were the rooms of the second son. The ones that he had now were exclusive for the firstborn.
There was another knock on the doors.
"Come in!" Leopold was just about to sit and rest his legs on the bed, which he had no doubt his parents had utilized for activities other than sleep.
Two women, half dressed in silks and half-naked to the bone, walked into the room. One was carrying a large wine pitcher and the other some goblets. They had giggles and rouge on their mouths and their hair was tied in unseemly fashions. They were both very pretty and not very modest.
"Your Highness…" one of them, a redhead, smiled. "We just wanted to welcome you to Casterly Rock and offer you some refreshments."
Leopold only crooked an eye. If this was the hospitality of Casterly Rock, no wonder his uncle grew to be so notoriously lecherous. Could Tywin really blame his youngest son?
"Uh… thank you, but I must decline." Leopold cleared his throat to stop the croaking sound. "Thank you for the… offer. I am honoured."
They really were persistent. "Really, Your Highness? You must be tired from your journey. Just lay back and my sister and I will do the rest. We've never lay with a Prince before, have we Betsy?" Her sister shook her head, giggling.
Leopold thought about it, as any man in his situation would. If he closed his eyes and imagined Arya's face, it would be the sweetest experience. A trial run for the wedding night to come, if it ever did with Arya's obstinacy and discomfort for the topic of love making. Alas, the promise that he made only a fortnight before was fresh on his mind. "Really, ladies. I must decline your generous offer." Besides, he didn't reckon that he had the stomach for more guilt or secrets. He had made a promise.
"Would you at least take one cup of wine and drink to Lord Tywin's health?" She offered the Prince a goblet. He took the goblet and saw how she poured the wine to the other girl as well. Harkening back to texts that he'd read about poison, he quickly swapped the goblets with one of them. They seemed surprised by his mistrust, but he gave no explanation.
"To Lord Tywin's health." Leopold toasted and drank deeply. It was a good Arbour red.
Seeing that he was in the same obstinate mood after the drink as he was before, the two wenches left him to his peace.
When the wolves and lion cub were brought into his chambers, as he had ordered the master of the hounds to do, Lady settled comfortably in a cot set aside just for her and started to clean the lion cub, but Nymeria sat by the door and stared with eyes of utmost determination. Gods have mercy should those wenches ever returned to her mistress' mate's rooms.
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Leopold was beginning to feel homesick with all these awkward moments. Dinner was another awkward affair. Present were the Lannisters of Lannisport, a cadet of the main branch, useful for breeding and spares. There was Kevan and Tygett Lannisters, who were Tywin's brothers, and their wives Dorna and Darlessa, followed by a cousin by the name of Ser Stafford with his children Cerenna, Myrielle and Daven and lastly fat Lady Genna, who was Tywin's sister. The last presence, hushed away in the corner and not spoken to, was Joy Hill, the bastard daughter of Tywin's last brother, Gerion, who died at sea.
Leopold had been showered by strangers who knew him, but he knew very little of them. They said how much he looked like Jaime, how much like Cersei – it must have been a twin thing, they said. They shared stories that only family can share of how he was an infant and they visited their niece, the Queen, and saw their three adorable nephews and niece. They remembered how they held the Princes of the Seven Kingdoms in their arms.
Spotting the smirking looks of his newfound cousins, Leopold blushed brighter than the crimson of his cloaks. Only Joy Hill did not seem to pay him much mind, picking at her food.
"Jaime wrote to your father of the day that he and Tyrion brought you to that wretchedly cold Winterfell," Lady Dorna explained. "He said you were screaming and begging not to go to the Starks and that you repeatedly slapped Jaime across the cheek." The woman laughed. "Can you imagine? A little boy slapping proud, golden Ser Jaime and all he can do is take it in." The other's laughed and Leopold did with them. He remembered that day. Tyrion had been charged with greeting the Lord of Winterfell and Jaime had been charged with tantrums and slaps from a seven-year-old. It was a sight that let Ned Stark know that this ward would be his favourite.
Tywin seemed to have a distaste for all the fondling. He decided to break the atmosphere.
"You did not agree to the two whores that came to your chamber, then?" Tywin took a sip of wine. His loud, booming voice had quieted even the most annoying of aunts.
"That was your doing?" Leopold shouldn't have been surprised. This was Tywin's castle, after all. However, he seemed too… old-fashioned for such things. Then again, whores were the world's oldest and most famous profession.
"Yes. I wanted to know what values my Heir held," Tywin said. Testing if I was as lecherous as Tyrion you mean, Leopold thought and, based on how everyone else fell silent, so did their guests.
"Did I pass your test, Lord Lannister?" Leopold tread very carefully.
There was the briefest spark of acceptance in Tywin's eyes and in its brevity, it felt like a golden accomplishment worthy of a hero. Leopold had proved himself capable to some capacity in Tywin's eyes. "Indeed." And that was the extent of the praise.
"How do you find Casterly Rock, Leopold?" Lady Genna had begun to soothe the tension that her brother naturally amassed. "Isn't it magnificent?"
"Magnificent, certainly, Aunt Genna" Leopold picked at his food. "Though I confess that I do not quite feel at home yet. I feel like a passing traveller - A guest."
His great-aunt smiled, kindly, "I'm sure you will come to feel at home in time. This is only your first day."
"Yes, and in two days you will be leaving," Tywin's harsh voice shushed Genna into submission. That certainly got Leopold's attention. "I have arranged that you will travel to all the notable houses of the West and meet with their Lords and Heirs. It's not a customary practise, but, since you've been absent from your duties for so long, it would be best that you became acquainted with them quickly."
He acts as if I wanted to go to Winterfell.
"What would I do with them whilst I'm there?" Leopold asked.
"My bannermen will entertain the son of the King. They will set up dinners or hunts and you are to participate in them," Tywin said, and Leopold's shoulders grew weaker and weaker. To ride and hunt was an absolute bane for the Prince. If he had to socialise, he preferred fishing. "You will meet all your future bannermen and their heirs and strike up long-lasting acquaintances. It is my hope that you learn something of the men of the West, rather than the North."
Ser Stafford, though not one to object Tywin, voiced his concern. "Lord Tywin… the boy just arrived. Do you really think…"
"He is my Heir now. He belongs to me. It is my wish that he goes and familiarises himself with the Westerlands. All of the Westerlands." Tywin's word was final. His gaze locked with that of his grandson. "And you will not be taking those mutts with you."
"But—"
"I'll have the Master of Hounds care for them. I don't want my bannermen to get the wrong idea of my Heir."
Leopold resigned. Though he did not like it, he understood why the wolves couldn't come with him. "That's a lot of salt and bread to inject in such a short period of time… but as you command me, Lord Lannister," Leopold held Tywin's gaze.
The dinner went on for far longer than Leopold would have liked. Family was an awkward affair, he realised, and not just when your brother tramples you with a horse, but even in simple dinner parties and such.
There was however, one thing digging in the back of Leopold's mind that was left unresolved – his betrothal. Tywin had not mentioned a word or even a suggestion. Somehow, Leopold expected the man to say something, anything, but the Old Lion gave no indication of knowing about the match. If Leopold wanted to assess the situation and make a solution, he needed to confront the Lord himself, however terrifying the prospect of that encounter would be.
It was funny how he always viewed the men most powerful and most feared. He had always been afraid of Robert, the king and Head of House Baratheon, when he was a boy. Now, he feared Tywin, the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Head of House Lannister. He never feared Jaime, though.
Leopold knocked on the Lord's chambers hours after the guests had left for their respective manses and strongholds.
Tywin opened his doors, saw his hobbling grandson and welcomed him into his solar. His apartments were much grander than those of Jaime, as was befitting of The Lord's Chamber. He poured them both a goblet of wine.
"I assume you have something to tell me," he said.
"Something to ask," Leopold summoned his courage. "I am betrothed to Lord Stark's daughter."
Tywin seemed to expect this. "So I've heard." He put down his goblet. "I've already sent a raven to King's Landing to sort out this nonsense. I'll not allow my immediate Heir to be married off for Robert's perverse virility. He wants to be lawful brothers with Eddard Stark and his family. I will not allow the Starks to have you longer than they already have."
Leopold was in shock. He had acted too slow. "How… exactly… do you plan to 'sort it out'?"
"The Crown owes Casterly Rock 3 million gold dragons. Your father's whoring and drinking expenses are quite extraordinary. If I wanted, I could make Robert dance naked on a table to keep the growing interest rates down."
"And who would you have me marry?" Leopold challenged. "I assume you don't really intend for the great Casterly Rock to pass to a cripple. If your children are all useless and your grandchildren are either cripples, psychos or weaklings, maybe… just maybe you'll be lucky with great grandchildren!"
Tywin remained as upright as a steel rod. "Casterly Rock will pass to you, have no worries. I happen to find you an acceptable Heir to my great house, with a little Western grooming of course." He sipped his wine, savouring the flavour like a proper lord. "But I have need of another alliance. The Tyrells are one of the richest houses in the Seven Kingdoms – and they have the most natural resources. The Martells have hated our house since the Rebellion and I intend to mend the bridge. Into one of these houses you'll marry."
Leopold sat back, considering for a few moments his next move. His grandfather and he were playing a game. For Arya, he had to win. "The Tyrells are a proud house. They value beauty and appearance. That is the charm of the rose. They won't give their only daughter to a cripple."
"They will to a Lannister and the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms."
"And the Martells are… notorious for their rights of primogeniture. They value birth order over sex. The Martell's only daughter is also the Dornish Heiress. While I'm sure they'll love the chance to wed a Princess to a Prince, the question that remains is whether you want House Lannister to be ruled by a Dornish woman. She'll wed me, bed me and poison me. Her bastards will rule Casterly Rock after me, not my children." Leopold also considered another fact. "They're also famously promiscuous so her bastards may run around bearing Lannister names, which is much worse." Tywin stared his Heir down, but for once Leopold didn't shudder under the man's gaze. Their arm wrestle was at the centre point. He continued. "House Lannister needs the right kind of woman. Fierce, strong, proud and stern. Someone who will obey me and willing to bear me children." There was one final argument forming in his mind. "There is also the matter of my father. It is perhaps best to play for his best side."
Tywin seemed amused. "And why is that?"
"Robert is not an accountant. He probably doesn't even know that he is in debt – he certainly won't care. He's a warrior without a war and he'll welcome war if he has the opportunity. Jon Arryn ruled the kingdom and Jon Arryn is dead. I know Lord Stark. He's a good lord and he has been successful in keeping his people out of debt, but he is not a businessman. He doesn't know how to make money, not without good council anyway."
"A Lannister always pays his debts," Tywin assured his grandson. "The king is married to my daughter. They have four children together."
"A wife that Robert despises. Four children that Robert couldn't care any less about. Robert has two brothers and many bastards. He doesn't lack any heirs. Should my father choose to cast aside my mother and her children our whole house will perish. Give him any reason to fight and he will. He's at that age where he will start a bloody war for fun."
Tywin was even more amused. "And why should Robert cast aside his legitimate children?"
He doesn't know? He doesn't know about Jaime and Cersei. He thinks I'm Robert's. He doesn't know that I'm the truest Lannister that ever lived. How could he not know? If a six-year-old boy could, how couldn't a sixty-year-old mastermind?
"For fun?"
"You speak like someone who has no children. What you fail to understand is that your children are your legacy. They're what remains of you when you're gone. To discard them is to discard everything you've ever built in your life." Tywin looked out of the window. He talked of his children, but he did not seem like a man who them. "Robert has built the foundations of a royal dynasty. He won't throw it away."
"I don't mean to scold or undermine you, my lord. I am but a young boy, so I am simply curious with how you plan to retrieve those three million gold dragons from a man who neither has them or is in any mood of making them."
Tywin moved dangerously then. He didn't like this blatant insubordination in his Heir. "Let me teach you one important thing, my grandson. A Lannister always pays his debts. Our mere reputation is enough to make men shudder, do you hear me? Let that be lesson for you." That didn't quite answer his question, but Leopold knew better than to test him.
"I have a debt to the Starks and I must pay it. It was not Robert or Mother or Uncle Jaime or even you who nurtured me after a horse rode over my legs and ruined my life. It was the Starks. They have been my closest allies and warmest companions and I have repaid them nothing. Worse than nothing – I've made a void," Leopold's mind instantly went to his dishonesty about Bran's fall. He clenched his eyes shut to banish the thought from his mind. "Debts are not only vengeance. Debts are sometimes what you have to pay… sometimes in something more than gold."
Tywin noticed something there. "You really love this Stark girl." It was not a question.
That took Leopold off his train of thought. "What makes you say that?"
Tywin sat down on an ottoman, goblet twirling in his fingers. "I recognise Robert's stubbornness in you. He started a whole Rebellion for a Stark girl." The great cogs of his mind were working. "If I don't do something about this then you will go and behave foolishly and embarrass me and our great house. So, I will offer you a compromise instead."
Now this was interesting. "What kind of compromise?"
"You will journey the Westerlands as I have ordered you to do. That is non-negotiable. Then you will go to Highgarden and Sunspear. If you can broker an alliance with the Tyrells and peace with the Martells, without the use of marriage, you can go to King's Landing and marry your Stark girl and I will recognise her as Lady Lannister."
"Aha," was all Leopold could say as he was thinking these terms over. His grandfather was a genius. Why make an enemy when you can have an ally?
"And she had better breed well," Tywin growled, savouring the last of the wine. "The Lannister great-grandchildren that you promised me better be born and plentifully in number."
"It was a wolf that brought me a lion cub from the forest, my lord. It's an omen from the gods. She will bear my children."
"I'm glad that you are so optimistic," Tywin said.
Leopold paused, assessing any loose ends to the agreement. "What about the ravens to King's Landing? You will need to call them off."
Tywin called for a servant, who brought the Maester and before Leopold's own eyes the old scholar wrote the letter and sent the raven out from Tywin's window.
As he hobbled to his own chambers, Leopold let out of victorious whoop. He had bent the lion's neck to his will. He had his bride. Now all he had to do was earn her.
Oh Arya. Why can't anything be simple with you?
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It would be a mistake to think that the progress of the Westerlands was a waste of time. For one thing, Leopold discovered how much he loved travelling. Riding horses was not the most fun activity for the Prince but meeting the people of his future lands made up for it. He laughed, ate, cursed and sang with them. He had made some extraordinary acquaintances.
The first journey was to House Prester of Feastfires.
Lord? Garrison Prester. Words? Tireless. Sigil? A red ox on an ermine field.
When he was young, younger than Bran, Leopold had his brain engraved with all the notable houses of the West. "It was not proper if the Heir didn't know who his future bannermen were," were Lady Stark's words. Leopold memorized the West, Robb memorized the North and Theon revised the Iron Islands.
Before he left the city of Lannisport, Leopold bought gifts for his hosts. For Lord Garrison he bought twelve red oxen from the markets. Their owner had been a fool who needed the gold for wine and whores and quickly, so he sold the oxen so cheaply that it might as well have been theft. Leopold thought it was a thoughtful gift for a man who he did not know – the gift of his proud sigil.
He arrived at the shores of Feastfires, ate the bread and salt, and drank the wine of Lord Garrison. Then he presented the oxen as gratitude for hospitality. The lord laughed, clapped the Prince's back and welcomed his liege's Heir with what could only be Western hospitality. It was this good-humoured lord that suggested Leopold should be nicknamed the 'Laughing Lion'.
One thing that Leopold learnt about the West was that it was small, at least in comparison to The North. In the North, to reach another man's lands might have taken a week. In the West, a day or two's ride would suffice.
Next was House Plumm of Trefot. One Lord? Philip Plumm. Words? Come Try Me. Sigil? Three plums on a field of yellow. For his gift, Leopold was unable to find any plums in the markets of Lannisport, bizarrely and instead bought dozens of red summer apples. Though the lord did not appreciate the joke, his son did.
"You're a funny one," said Dennis, the Heir of Trefot, as he munched down on one of his father's gifts. The two boys had huddled around a warm fire awaiting the morning when Leopold would be back on his long journey. Dennis, like Leopold, was a grotesque - a hunchback. His shoulders and spine sagged as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Perhaps that was why he had the sense of humour that his straight and fine of limb father seemed to lack. "I didn't know Lannisters could laugh. They say Tywin Lannister smiled only once in his life – on his wedding day."
Leopold nodded profoundly, as if finally understanding his new-found grandfather. "That would explain a lot of things." Suckling on the last of the apple core, Leopold threw it into the crackling fire. "Tell me… how does House Plumm make its income? There are no gold or silver mines in your lands. Fishing is House Farman's unique privilege. What do you live on other than my apples?"
"Like every other Lord who has an embarrassingly obscure banner. Plums are very favourable in this climate. Plums, figs, cherries, oranges. However, the Reach lords produce more and sweeter produce, so we're always undersold."
"I see." Leopold thought deeply. He left the next morning with the promise to Dennis to exchange ravens and letters.
The next on his map was House Stackspeare of Elsinore. Lord Selmond and his two sons, Steffon and Alyn, greeted Leopold and invited him for a hunt on the morrow. Leopold tried to warn them that he would make a horrible hunter, but the Stackspeares would have none of it. They armed the cripple with horse, spears and horn, and the party departed into the woods with huntsmen and hounds.
In matters that required physical strength, Leopold lingered at the back of any party. He spoke with the second Stackspeare son, Alyn, while the lord and heir rode ahead. Alyn was a young man, older than Leopold and more sombre than Jon Snow. As the two talked, Leopold discovered that the young man was a good talker and a jealous brother, as all second sons must be. He lusted after his brother's inheritance and wife, Gertrude, who was heavy with child.
As the party rode through the woods, the Stackspeare heir downed a bull, but with kind courtesy befitting a lord, invited the Lannister heir to make the prized kill. Leopold declined, saying that it was not his reward, but Stackspeares more stubborn than the creatures that they killed and so Leopold had no choice. With a sigh, Leopold plunged his spearpoint into the dying beast.
Leopold's next hosts were the Sarsfields and, like the Stackspeares with whom they shared the rights of the same forest, were insistent of the Prince's attendance of hunts. Leopold gave his host a gift of green arrows, another nod to the houses' sigil – a green arrow on a white bend in a green field – and they in return shoved their own bow and arrows into Leopold's hands for the hunt. They seemed disappointed when the Prince told them he was useless in horsemanship, archery or spearing, but the hosts had no other way to entertain their guest, so he had no choice but to accept their courtesy.
The catch of the day – a golden hind – was the work of the Sarsfield Lord, Patryck Sarsfield. He gifted his Prince and future liege lord with the golden hind's hide. Leopold accepted with gratitude.
It was beginning to be embarrassing for Leopold to be treated like some invalid – he hated the pity. Hosts were never required to give gifts to their guests or allow them to make the killing blows for them. In highborn etiquette, guests brought their hosts gifts, like an unofficial payment for their Lord's guest right. However, what could be done? Leopold couldn't hunt, ride well or loose arrows. He was an invalid. He began to despise forests and hunting.
He was glad to learn that the next journey was House Marbrand of Ashemark. There were no forests in Ashemark.
He was greeted by the Marbrand Heir, Addam. Apparently, he was one of Tywin's most daring commanders. He was a man of forty years old and the effective lord of Ashemark, while his father fought off the smallpox that claimed him.
While they stood in the courtyard of the Marbrand's stronghold, a serpent had slithered its way to the men. Camouflaged by the mud of the ground, the black serpent was sure of its prey.
Leopold, who regularly kept his eyes on his feet, saw the movement in the mud and the slightest glint of a serpent's eye. Without thinking, he grabbed one of the torches of his men and purged the slimy shape. Burnt, with its thermal receptors scalded, the serpent slithered away, but with little luck, for Marbrand guardsmen speared the creature before it could make a lucky escape.
"You have my thanks, my prince," the Marbrand Heir told the Prince. "I owe you my life, one could say. If it hadn't been for you, I would be drowning in poison."
Leopold, who was looking at the carcass of the snake, concurred. He ordered his men to place it in his safe keeping – its poisons could be fascinating. "This is indeed a venomous beast and I thank you for your thanks. A simple swearing of fealty when the time comes for me to become Lord Paramount would suffice, my lord." Marbrand chuckled and promised to do so in the future, as his family had done for generations.
It was at Ashemark that a letter from Tywin arrived. The Lord of Casterly Rock was furious that Leopold had inspired the nickname – The Laughing Lion – amongst his nobles. That name once belonged to Tytos Lannister, Tywin's father, the lord that nearly ruined their House. Leopold winced as he read the strongly-worded letter to its completion. His grandfather commanded him to stop the japes, the laughter and the mockery. The lion was a creature that was feared, not laughed at.
He was beginning to suffocate in his grandfather's harsh and proud expectations.
He was half way through his tiresome journey. There were only six more houses that his grandfather requested to visit. House Lefford of the Golden Tooth was next.
Lord Leo and his daughter Lady Alysanne offered them very different welcomes. Lord Leo was all coldness, permitting only the polite manners for his liege's grandson. Perhaps he was insulted that Leopold, a presumed namesake, was not much to look at. Lady Alysanne was warm and kind and 16 years old. She blushed deep red when the Prince smiled at her in gratitude. She was not the world's prettiest girl, somehow possessing the aura of a very old woman despite her youthful age, but every maid blushed when a Prince rode into her gates.
During dinner, after Leopold presented his host with gifts of freshly forged weapons and swords from Lannisports' blacksmiths, Lady Alysanne gave her own gift to her father's guest. She presented him with a man's belt – apparently one of her own making.
"Many thanks, Lady Alysanne, the craftmanship is stunning," he grinned. To show his thanks, he put the belt on straight away.
The Lord Lefford mistook Leopold's appreciation for flirtation. His voice grumbled from his high seat. "My prince, do you intend to stay at the Golden Tooth for long?" Old Leo must have thought the Young Leo had come to steal the She-Leo. His question was loaded with polite rudeness.
"No, my lord. I am to ride for Hornvale."
"It is a long ride."
"Indeed, it is."
"It would be prudent to start your journey immediately."
"I couldn't agree more. After dinner, I will saddle my horse." Leopold had no desire for a quarrel where there was no need for one. The Golden Tooth proved to be his shortest visit yet – four hours in total. Neither Leopold's horse nor his men thanked him for it.
House Brax' sigil was a purple unicorn on a field of silver. Mythical though their animal was, they took great pride in their rearing of mares and, despite Leopold's reluctance, invited the Prince to look at them.
"Man-eating beasts," Leopold hissed under his breath after Tytos Brax, the heir, asked what he thought of horses. Tytos only laughed at the absurdity of the Prince's description. Mares didn't eat men.
The third son of the lord, Flement, who dawdled in the shadows, outshined by his two older brothers, accidentally scared one of the horses. As it reared at him and various Braxian men ran to the boy to save him from the terrified stallion, a memory flashed before the eyes of the Prince… a memory that was too painful for him to voice.
Lord Andros gripped his thirdborn son by the ear and dragged him for all the stable-boys to see his shame. He screamed at his son for the embarrassment that was caused, ironically amassing more by his screaming, and the punishment that Flement would endure. Quite frankly, the fearsome horses' hooves flailing in the air like war-hammers were enough punishment, in Leopold's opinion.
The next stop was one that Leopold had awaited eagerly. The Falwells of Foolfort had the most amusing sigil in the Seven Kingdom's – a fool dressed in gold and red motley danced and juggled three suns on a field of black. Their words were "Who is the fool?".
However, when he arrived, he was met with catastrophe. Foolfort was fighting a battle with the sewage pipes. Apparently, they had clogged and burst mere hours before the arrival of the Prince and hundreds of years' worth of sewage was spilling in everywhere. Stable boys and cooks, farmers and butchers, jesters and soldiers all ran around with buckets trying to contain the piles of shit from oozing out.
The Heir of Foolfort, Faxwyl Falwell, ran up to the Prince's horse. He wasn't so profusely covered in the mess, but he certainly wasn't the cleanest lord in the Seven Kingdoms. "I am so sorry, my prince." He blushed red with the embarrassment that was his house. "As you can see, we are experiencing some difficulties."
"I see, my lord," Leopold said, thinking of how best to stop this young man's embarrassment. "Would you like the aid of my men? I'm sorry that they are in such small number."
"Any help would be appreciated, Your Highness," the Heir smiled gratefully and bowed his head gently. It was incredible how pompous proud lords could drop their facades when faced with a genuine crisis and experiencing an embarrassing kind of hardship in their own home.
Later, Leopold suggested that, instead of containing the oozing crap and burst plumbing pipes, they should let it all flow out and wash everything out with water once the brown flood stopped. In the evening, the whole castle feasted on the castle reserves by campfires. Two days after leaving Foolfort, Leopold received a letter from Faxwyl that his suggestion worked, and the castle was being rebuilt. Faxwyl proved to be a man of good humour. His letter ended with the posts script "I suppose my house were the fools this time."
Of course, this was not the only letter that Leopold received. Closely followed from Faxwyl's letter was Tywin's and perhaps it was obvious that the proud lord, who had probably never witnessed a literal flood of shit, was not pleased by his grandson's lack of dignity in the exodus. Strong words were spat upon the pages in furious writing. Fragile pages were crumpled in angry fists and tossed into crackling fires.
He had three more houses to visit: Swyft, Crakehall and Clegane.
The Prince's visit to Cornfield, the seat of House Swyft, involved a lot less faecal mass. A simple family with a simple dinner was all Leopold wanted after Foolfort – and he got it. Lord Harys Swyft was a greying man and his brood of roosters were of varying years; the oldest being in his mid-twenties and the youngest being a small toddler who crawled up to Leopold during dinner with a pair of castanets. With a smile, Leopold bent down to the little toddler, accepted the gift of castanets and clapped them, which seemed to amuse the child to no end. Leopold left Cornfield with no negative feelings.
The Crakehalls of Crakehall were perhaps the most captivating family that he visited. The heir, Tybolt Crakehall, had as much taste for hunting as Leopold did. He stayed and talked with the Prince until one of his younger, more athletic brothers caught a huge boar and invited their guest to make the killing blow. When the party returned to the castle, Tybolt invited the Prince to view his study, which was home to some of the most beautiful art pieces that Leopold had ever witnessed. Landscapes, figures, compositions all impressed the prince who loved the combination of intellect and beauty above much else.
"It's beautiful," Leopold marvelled one of the oil reliefs of a young girl.
She had dark golden hair, honesty and warmth in her chocolate eyes, and sweetness in the curve of her lips. She had the aura of a woman older than her years, but without a doubt she was young. The red dress that she wore was vibrant, but her face, simple as it was, was more intriguing than the piece of fabric. There was something simple and truthful about her that drew the eye. "Who is she?" Leopold asked Tybolt. He had a distinct feeling that he somehow knew this girl.
"My muse," Tybolt waved, dismissively. "The only daughter of the Lord of Beesbury. She was once a ward of my father's."
"Are you to wed her?" Leopold inquired.
"No. Her father drove her mad. Her mother couldn't protect her. Her betrothed died before she could meet him. She boarded a boat, sailed west and was never heard from again. She is likely dead."
"And you want to immortalise her."
Tybolt shrugged his shoulders. "Still learning."
Later, Leopold shared with the Heir of Crakehall his first ideas of a device that could project images found in the light into a dark room. It would, theoretically, be easier to sketch things if it was projected onto the canvas. As a promise of the continuation of a long and beneficial friendship, Leopold entrusted the plans to Tybolt, who in addition to completing the idea, also promised to send to Casterly Rock a portrait of the Prince.
It had been the first time that Leopold shared a fragment of his brilliance with any one, but he felt that Tybolt was his equal in unrecognised intellect, athletic abilities, sense of humour, station, and, strangely, age – they discovered that they were born on the same day.
They separated with the promise to exchange ravens and letters.
The final location of the wretched journey was Clegane's Keep – Leopold's most fearful journey. Gregor Clegane was famed for being one of the most ruthless men in the Seven Kingdoms and Tywin Lannister had specified that it was mandatory for Leopold to visit the Mountain Who Rides. Even in Winterfell, Leopold was told by Lord Stark about this man's cruelty and, before Winterfell, Leopold had seen the Hound's burnt face as proof of it.
Gregor Clegane stood eight feet tall. That alone was enough reason for the brittle, crippled boy to shit himself. He was clad in armour, with a sword as tall as Leopold himself by his side and he wore a scowl of utmost displeasure. The Mountain Who Rides had no time to entertain little bratty boys who suckled their mother's breasts until manhood.
The Prince dismounted his horse and faced the awkward silence of this terrifying lord. "Lord Clegane has my thanks for the welcome," Leopold inclined his head.
"Prince," Clegane growled and offered the same inclination of his head, though you wouldn't see with the thick neck that his head rested on. "The hospitality of Clegane's Keep is yours. You will join me for dinner." He waved a hand and a servant crawled up to his side in utter fear. "My man will show you to your rooms."
"Thank you, my lord."
Like Tywin, Clegane saw nothing but weakness in Leopold's legs. How could Leopold command the respect of one of his house's most valued warriors if he himself was not a warrior? Then again, Tywin was hardly a warrior anymore, but he had the benefit of a famous reputation. Leopold's reputation was being trampled by horses. No… he could not be like his grandfather. He had to find another way to win the loyalty of this man.
To show strength, one had to subdue the strong. To show intelligence, one had to outwit the intelligent. To show weakness, one had to embarrass themselves to the mercy of pity.
Dinner was awkward. Clegane ate like a savage dog. Leopold was almost surprised that the food was cooked – Clegane would be perfectly comfortable with raw meat.
"Does his lordship intend to travel to King's Landing for the Tourney of the Hand?" Leopold asked, casually.
"Yes." Clegane growled. There was neither cunning, nor intelligence in the man. He was as blunt, dumb and cruel as he was fabled to be. It was hard to make conversation with a man that didn't want to speak.
"That reminds me of my gift for you, Lord Clegane," Leopold whistled for his servant to bring the gift from Lannisport. A huge great sword was brought in a leather pouch. It was fashioned out of black steel – the finest castle-forged steel in Lannisport – with a three-headed dog as the pommel. It was said to be a great and deadly beauty. "I was told that you are a man of violence."
Clegane stood from his seat and approached the gift, unsheathing it from the leather pouch. He studied it for a while, swung it a few times and then looked at the Prince. "Who do I have to kill?"
Leopold was impressed by this man's swiftness for violence and obedience. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of someone. Does my lord like the gift?" Gregor looked the sword up and down again. He gruffly nodded.
Perhaps swords were mightier than pens in winning the appeasement of violent men.
The three-headed dog that guarded the gates of the West truly belonged to the whole Lannister family.
[][][][][][][]
At the gates of Highgarden, Leopold was greeted by the youngest Tyrell son – the Knight of the Flowers. He was offered bread and salt the moment he dismounted.
"Highgarden is yours, Prince Leopold," Loras smiled politely. "My family is so very eager to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine," Leopold nodded and allowed the pretty man to lead him into the main hall of Highgarden. He hobbled behind on his crutches. "Tell me, which members of your family will I be meeting?"
"Well, there will be my father, Lord Mace, my sister, Lady Margaery and my two brothers, Lord Willas and Ser Garlan and my grandmother, the Lady Olenna," said Loras.
"And, if I may be so blunt, ser, which of your relatives should I speak to about alliances and trade? Your father, I presume?" Leopold knew from his freshly forged experiences that the Lord of the House was not necessarily the head of the family.
"You may try, but my father has little interest in actual governance of the Reach," Loras laughed and Leopold nodded politely. "My brother Willas, the heir, is the one you want. He is more adept to dealing with the business of lordship. Speaking of which, here he is."
In the Main Hall, he was greeted by a young man whose hair was the colour of honey and who lumbered when he walked, which he did with a walking stick. He had tawny eyes and he wore velvets and silks of gold and green. The walking stick was made of the finest ivory bone and engraved with the thorns of a rose. He looked like a decent man. There was a brace clasped around his leg.
"Your Highness, may I present Lord Willas," Loras said and politely departed, leaving the two heirs alone together.
"Lord Willas," Leopold inclined his head.
"Prince Leopold. We were not expecting you so soon," Willas walked up to the Prince, a task that was as slow for him as it was for Leopold.
"I was pleasantly surprised. The roads of your region are surprisingly smooth."
"Well… a severe emphasis on agriculture would do that to any region," Willas said as he gave the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms a satisfactory low bow.
"Well, I suggest that we get on with the details of the arrangement, Your Highness. I would prefer to do it before dinner with my family. The evening promises to be eventful. The Queen of Thorns has decided to grace us with her presence."
Leopold would have rather rested from the long journey – he had ridden for five days straight to get to the heart of the Reach. He wasn't going to be at his best. "As you wish, my lord. However, before we start, can I say how much I admire your walking stick. Is it real ivory?"
Willas was surprised by the interest from his guest. "Uh… why yes indeed. Ivory from the Summer Isles. An unfortunate tourney accident rendered my leg badly injured." He looked at the Prince's own uncomfortable boots and the bulky crutches under each armpit. "And you, Your Highness? I've heard rumours… but…"
"Yes," Leopold looked down at his boots, articles of clothing that he despised above all others. "Like you… an unfortunate accident involving horses." He cleared his throat, discomforted. "Shall we proceed?"
Willas took a seat at the head of the table and poured a goblet of wine for each them.
Inter-regional trades and alliances were tricky businesses. The premise was something along the lines of the first house would trade something abundant and necessary to the other house and vice versa. For House Lannister, they needed the Reach's bountiful crops. For House Tyrell, they needed the Westerlands' mine resources – ore, iron, coal. When trading on a scale as large as the one the two men were discussing – a scale that would include both coin and wartime allegiance – such negotiations would result in marriage, or at least an engagement, to assure the sincerity of the deal, which was where Leopold currently discovered himself to be.
"That is the traditional way that unions are made. I have a sister who is 14 years old and needs to be wed," Willas insisted.
"My father, the king, has promised me to Lord Stark's daughter. I owe the Starks a debt. I cannot, unfortunately, marry your sister."
Willas sat back in his seat. "A pity, but I know how Lannisters are with debts. What do you propose instead, Your Highness? You are beholden to House Lannister, not Baratheon. You can't promise for my House either of your younger siblings. Distant cousins that you may have in Lannisport will not be sufficient enough. I want my sister to have a good match and your grandfather and uncle are… too old for her." Tyrion is short, not old, thought Leopold, but dismissed the hint from the roselord.
"My lord, you and I are young men born in an old world. Do we really require marriage to seal our agreements? I don't think we do. Here is my proposal to seal the agreement," he took out a parchment from the pockets of his cloak and gave it to the roselord to read. "All we need to do to make sure that our agreement is kept is to have a common interest in keeping it."
"This involves a lot of money," Willas regarded with a sceptical eye reviewing the parchment.
"No more than a proper Royal Wedding and, unlike a marriage, you will receive your money back. It's a deposit into the Iron Bank of 2,000,000 gold dragons. If one of us breaks the agreement, they will lose their dragons to the other – with a small compensation to the Iron Bank as gratitude. The money will marinate in the Iron Bank for two years, by which point we can meet again and discuss from there."
Willas looked over the agreement in his hands for some time. "It's an elegant idea."
"Indeed."
Willas' tawny eyes met the emerald ones of the Prince in a moment of sincerity. "You're a revolutionary." It was not a question. "I admire revolutionaries. They're innovative, bright and brave, but they rarely, if ever, receive happy endings… at least within their lifetimes."
Leopold smirked. "None of us have happy endings. We all die in the end, don't we?"
"I suppose you're right." Willas looked at the parchment in his hand. "I like this idea. I really do, but my family won't. They expect a marriage. They're more… traditional."
The Prince's shoulders shrugged. "Well… those are my terms. Please consider them. I would look forward to do business with you." The Prince stood up, as if the negotiations were over, and asked to be brought to his rooms. Willas rang for a servant, but himself continued to sit in his chair and mull over the interesting terms that the Prince brought to him.
Willas Tyrell liked the boy. He was a true innovator. He was also lucky enough to be born into the Royal Family. There was no doubt in the roselord's mind that Leopold Lannister was the best match his sister could ever ask for, and the Tyrells were one of the best marriage options for the Prince himself, if only the Stark girl could be brought out of the picture.
He needed to consult with a wiser head than his about this. His grandmother was in her solar.
"Don't bore me with the particulars of the deal. Just tell me if it is a yes or a no from the Prince." Olenna bathed in the sunlight of the Reach in her balcony with a goblet of Arbour wine and some figs by her side. She didn't grace her grandson with even a look.
"I need some advice. He's engaged. To Lord Stark's daughter," Willas said, taking a seat beside the old woman. "And he refuses to budge from it. He called it his debt."
"Either the Starks raised him to be honourable in his promises or he's lustful," Olenna snapped, sucking the flesh and blood from the fig. "What did he propose for the settlement?"
"Our prince is a clever man. He proposed this," Willas gave the parchment to his grandmother who waved it away.
"I don't want to read that tedious drag. Tell me what it says instead." Willas related the details of economics and finances to the little woman. "Clever, very clever. It's nothing new to economics, but the lords of Westeros have certainly forgotten this method. This principle has been used in Bravos for centuries. Marriage is simply more… simple. 2,000,000 gold dragons are approximately the total worth of the venture and then there's the chance of inheriting the neighbour's gold to sweeten the deal. Tywin has himself a clever heir, finally."
"Do you think I should agree and bring our house into an alliance with a house that refuses to pay with tradition?"
"What you fail to see, grandson, is the bigger picture of this alliance. There are rumours that the Crown Prince is mad, unhinged. Mad kings inspire rebellions. Our guest prince is next in line to the throne after his brother and if he's as smart as this piece of paper then he'll try to win his brother's crown."
"I saw his legs," Willas lowered his gaze. "He's a cripple, just like me. And he said the rumours were true. He despises his brother."
Olenna chuckled. "Ha! What do you think will happen when Joffrey becomes King and Leopold becomes Lord of Casterly Rock? War will happen, and it will not do for us to side with the wrong side. House Tyrell had done that once, during Robert's Rebellion. It should not repeat the same mistake again."
"But which is the right side, grandmother?"
Olenna turned to him. "The one with the saner head."
Needless to say, Leopold had secured the Tyrells for Tywin.
[][][][][][][]
Had Leopold not been smitten by a northern she-wolf, he would have found Margaery Tyrell a comely girl. She wore the bare minimum amount of clothes without trespassing the border of propriety. The earnest smile that lit up on her face the moment her doe eyes saw him was enough to make any man's heart melt. She was a devious credit to her house. Alas, Leopold paid her only a polite level of attention.
"Your Highness," she curtsied low, accenting the low-neck line of her dress. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise," Leopold nodded and smiled, though he made no effort to keep his eyes on her form. His thoughts were elsewhere – with direwolves, needle pricks and violent tempers. He had worked too hard for the prize that he wanted to be tempted by a low-cut dress.
She seemed to sense that he was not interested, and he was very grateful for her lack of persistency. It was one of the first qualities that he found admirable in her character.
"So… you're going to Sunspear?" Willas Tyrell asked after dinner was over. His father and grandmother had retired and there was only Leopold, Willas, Garlan, Margaery and Loras left to enjoy the crackling of the fire with some good Arbour wine.
"Indeed. Then, I'll be on my way to King's Landing for my wedding," said Leopold, grinning. The thought that it was only a matter of time before he'd be bonded with the girl that he loved was a recurring one. "As I understand it, Oberyn Martell was your opponent in your tourney?"
"Yes… but I do not hold it against him. Oberyn and I have exchanged letters. He and I are very good friends."
Leopold was thoroughly confused. "Doesn't House Tyrell and House Martell have a long-standing feud?"
Garlan Tyrell, nicknamed the Gallant, laughed. "Exactly, Your Highness, you've hit the nail on the head. The feud is the result of my brother's unfortunate tourney." He turned to glare on his brother. "My brother is, ironically, the only Tyrell that doesn't feud with the Martells."
"Then why doesn't the feud end?" Leopold asked.
"Pride and family honour," Willas said with the roll of his eyes. "My father is a proud man and my family is vengeful. Crippling heirs is a business not easily forgotten by the family. It's a shame that the same cannot be said for the parties involved."
Leopold felt that this was his moment to shine. "You're lucky then – the Reach remembers. In my family, everyone somehow manages to overlook my assailant. The Reach remembers, but King's Landing forgets." He drank more wine. "So, what is the Red Viper of Dorne like?"
"Absolutely mad," Willas answered instantly. "And absolutely brilliant." The Heir of Highgarden promptly launched in a series of anecdotes and tales of the man who the whole kingdom believed to be half mad. By the end of his description he fell silent for a moment and then turned to the golden Prince. "Prince Leopold, would you object to some company on the road to Sunspear?"
Loras and Garlan protested before Leopold could respond. "Brother, you're insane!" Garlan roared.
"The Martells hate us—" Loras intruded.
"Even if you're close friends with the Prince of Dorne, that does not mean that you'd be safe in his country—"
"Reachmen and Dornishman have always despised each other—"
"Well I think Willas is old enough to make his own decisions." Margaery interrupted her two brothers, playfully and diplomatically. They both fell silent and looked at her with queer expressions. Leopold took note of that and smirked at her – another admirable quality.
"I'd be honoured," Leopold gave his answer, "assuming your family doesn't chain you to Highgarden's rose statues."
"That is an excellent idea, Your Highness," Garlan said, as if considering the proposition seriously.
"Who is going to be acting Lord if you're in Dorne? What business do you have in Dorne anyway?"
"Father is lord of Highgarden and Grandmother is here to ensure nothing falls to hell, but acting lord duties will fall onto you, brother dearest," Willas smiled cruelly, as his brother, Garlan, showed his displeasure at the role assigned to him. "I'd like to see my old friend again… and perhaps find a potential in smoothing this stupid family feud?" The Tyrell heir caught the Prince's eye with a mischievous glint. Perhaps the Prince had inspired in him the taste of political friendship, rather than the banal secret ravens.
"I would enjoy the company on the road, Lord Willas." Leopold paused. "God knows I'd need a friend in Dorne."
[][][][][][][]
They arrived at Sunspear by ship. Sailing was yet another wonder that Leopold had never previously fully appreciated. A gently rocking ship floating, as if by magic, on the azure blue and catching the sights of the glistening dolphins beat the terror of horses any day.
Prince Oberyn greeted his old friend Willas with warmth and pleasure and then he turned to the Lannister Prince.
"Prince Leopold," Oberyn regarded the Lannister with suspicious eyes. The boy instantly knew that this man despised his family, though the fact was common across the entire Kingdom. His niece and nephew were, after all, wrapped in Lannister crimson after they were botched in the Sack of King's Landing.
"Your Highness, Prince Oberyn. It is an honour to finally meet with you," Leopold gave the man his most charming smile. "I've heard much about you."
"Oh, did you?" The viper's tongue was deadly. "From the roselord no doubt?" Snake eyes flickered to the rose.
"Not just. Your reputation is famous even in the North."
Oberyn smirked. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you. You're a boy, after all." It was meant as a slight. The Lannister was the youngest in the party, only 15, while the Tyrell was 22 and the Martell was in the grey years of his forties. He may have been a lion, but in this pit of thorns and fangs he was a new-born cub.
Leopold decided to smirk. "Would my reputation be more famous if I was a girl?"
There was a pause before the tense air broke with Oberyn's laughter. Lord Prester of Feastfires had been correct – the Laughing Lion was an apt name for the young Prince.
"You brought me a funny Lannister, Willas. Never thought I'd see the day," Oberyn slapped Willas' back and moved to embrace the Prince with the warmth that a guest deserved. A simple joke had won Leopold the respect of this madman. "Welcome to Sunspear, Your Highness. My brother and his daughter, Arianne, are to discuss terms with you. They are waiting for us in the Main Hall."
"Arianna is your brother's Heir, am I correct?" Leopold worked through his memory of Martell family trees. Oberyn affirmed him. In a different world where Tywin ruled, and Leopold possessed no lust or desire or backbone, the girl would have been his wife. Leopold's spine shivered at the prospect.
Her copper skin, almond shaped eyes and thick lush hair made her a Dornish beauty. Leopold was noticing the similarities in Southern beauties, namely the mischievous and flirtatious nature. The hot climate allowed them to be liberal with their dress cuts. The habit of flirtation gave them enticing smirks and lusty eyes, ones that could drive any man mad with fervour. Any man who did not already love another.
The girl and her father sat with Leopold for a solid two hours. It was the girl that was making everything difficult. Doran Martell was a peacemaker and negotiations were easy. Like Willas, Doran liked the Bravosi banking technique that Leopold proposed. Arianne… less so. The devious little snake was hunting for a marriage. Leopold made his engagement very clear several times throughout the meeting. Eventually, Doran agreed, though his daughter grumbled.
It was left to Oberyn to entertain the Prince until Willas was finished. "So… you will be riding to the capital when Lord Willas is done?" There was a mad glint in his eye that made Leopold feel deeply uncomfortable.
"Indeed. I have a wedding to get to. My bride… I'm sure, hope at least… has been preparing, or at least her family will have. Or at the very least my family would be, I hope." Leopold was deeply unsure of what the progress was. Yes, he'd sent a letter of explanation to Arya and a letter of instructions to his mother, but he had not been able to receive any replies, being constantly on the move.
"You do not seem very confident, Your Highness," Oberyn laughed.
"No… my bride is feisty and strong-willed. She is not one to enjoy being shackled to me."
The Prince of Dorne gave the Prince of the other Kingdoms a knowing smirk. "Then breaking her is part of the fun, no?" He laughed, and Leopold had to admit that some part of Oberyn's words rang true. "Would his Highness mind if I accompanied you to the capital?"
That startled Leopold. "Why would you want to surrender the beauty of Dorne for the stench of King's Landing?"
Oberyn shrugged. "I'm a traveller. I like to travel and though I have been to the capital before I would be honoured to be a guest at your wedding." The Prince of Dorne had just shamelessly invited himself to another man's wedding.
"It would be a pleasure to host you, Prince Oberyn." Leopold inclined his head, politely.
"I do hope that your wedding doesn't end in a similar manner to the last one that I was invited to in the capital. My sister Elia and, ah, another prince… Rhaegar Targaryen. Of course, we all know how that marriage ended, don't we, Lannister?"
Leopold suddenly felt very cold in southern Dorne.
Perhaps not my best chapter but hey… we all have off days or… weeks and I wanted to get something out as fast as I could. It's really a character building and continuity chapter.
Please REVIEW! I worked on this and would love feedback, positive or negative.
I would also really appreciate if some kind-hearted reader would volunteer as my BETA READER. If anyone is interested, please PM me. There are benefits! I have cookies!