DEFIANCE
GAEL
The songmistress continued her ballad of The Dancing Lass and Gael felt her face steadily become hotter. Gods, the woman was singing of –
She shifted uncomfortably in her cushioned chair at the head of the long feast-table, glancing round the hall. At the center of the room was a performing theater troop, and to the sides were men sitting at long benches drinking flagons of ales and consuming the feast that had been made to celebrate her return to health after the assassination attempt. The room was dim, lit only by a line of small, flickering lamps set in the alcoves of the walls. The high ceiling was echoing the words of the singing woman loudly and as the men gave a hearty cheer at a particularly explicit verse, Gael was suddenly glad for the low lighting.
"Would m'lady wish a different song to be requested?" Carrick Bain asked, quietly from her side.
"I'm fine," she replied, stiffly. When she turned around, however, she saw that the comment had been made in jest, and her serious, earnest reply had caused a smile to spread across his face. She scowled.
"Why, you're Grace, I did not realize a woman of your position could blush so."
"It is not with in my habit to blush like a maiden, ser,' she replied, draining her glass of wine as she tried not to listen to what the woman was singing. You're a ruler, she reminded herself, not some simpering farm girl.
But when the next bit of the song reached her ears – "and I'll wear no shift at all!" – she found she required a form of distraction.
"Tell me," she said, settling back in her chair, "how you came to be Lord Tywin's advisor."
"I'm guessing you ask this out of polite courtesy rather than a desire to learn of your enemies weaknesses."
She felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "But of course."
Carrick leant back in his chair, regarding Gael through dark eyes for a moment. He had not taken up wearing armor as was traditional for any knight in Westeros, but then again, he was not a traditional knight. He continued to wear his elaborately embroided coats; this one a midnight black with bronze stitching at the collar, cuffs and arms in light of the feast-night. There was ink on his finger-tips, she noticed, as he caressed the stem of his wine-cup absentmindedly; the action, somehow, caused her body to flush even more heavily and she reached for her own wine glass quickly, gulping down its contents.
"For what it is worth, as a boy, my family was not rich," he began, slowly. "We were not poor, either – a distinction that must be made, you understand – but amongst all the Lords who served Tywin Lannister, my family was the poorest. My great-grandfather had been given the castle Greenfield by Tytos Lannister for his services to him regarding coin and trade and it sat on several acres of land.
The men and women – yes, the women, too – of the House Bain liked to regard themselves as working professionals; learned in science and matters of trade, coin astronomy and astronomy to name a few. The half-century since my great-grandfather's death, however, was not prosperous for my family. Tytos Lannister was a kind but weak man and was apt to lend his money to men who could not pay the fee back. As our wealth was tied up with his own, we found ourselves poor people living in a rich man's home. Greenfield and the family fortune was divided and subdivided with each – larger – subsequent generation. So my grandfather could not afford what his father could, and my father could not afford what his father could, and by the time I was a boy on the brink of manhood, with three younger brothers and two younger sisters the money was simply not there."
Carrick's eyes seemed to be alight, though there was barely any light in the room for their dark depths to reflect. Gael found herself more interested that she would have admitted in his tale. "But status, Gael, as you will know – in any traditional, class conscious world – declines more slowly than wealth. The family of Bain were still incited to weddings and retained important roles in the Lannister family courts but Tywin Lannister – the son of Tytos – did not put emphasis on the learned. He took ruthless steps to rectify the Lannister name and restore his family's honor and fortune from its near ruin – he did not need men who knew books and coin, he needed men who could restore respect in his house. So my family watched with a mixture of disdain and envy at the rising elite of men – the likes of Gregor and Sandor Clegane, Jaime Lannister and Kevan Lannister.
You must remember that I had been taught all my life that my honor and pride would come from my knowledge and not from my ability to wield a sword. Confronted with the reality that this was not the case, then, I had two choices: take up a sword, on my nineteenth name day, or ride over to Casterly Rock, demand an audience with Tywin and declare that he once again acknowledge my family and what they had to offer. I chose the latter. I was lucky my head did not end up on a spike, in truth."
Gael smiled. "Have you ever known your place, Ser Carrick?"
"Unfortunately not." His eyes lingered on her face for a moment, his voice suddenly serious, "I have never had your certainty."
"In what?"
"Myself. My land."
Gael eye's drifted to the singing woman. She was light-eyed and pretty and danced with swishing skirts and a dress that had an extremely low neck. She captivated every man in the room save the one at her side.
He was handsome in a dark way. Dangerous. If the Lannister's were lion's, then Carrick Bain was the shadowcats that prowled the hills.
His eyes were fixed on her and Gael felt her fingers clutch reflexively tighter round her wine.
"I have not stood the test of time that you have stood through," she said, her voice brooding. "There are hard days coming."
"Are you afraid?"
"I struggle to sleep at night. Is that fear?"
"Some men would say that that was for want of a man."
Her hand clutched so much more tightly round her wine glass she feared it would break.
"My heart belongs to my country" she returned. The words left her mouth before she could stop them – both a warning and a promise – and the wound on her shoulder where the assassin's knife had pierced her skin prickled uncomfortably. She was all too aware now of Cassain sitting on her left. Though he had been conversing with her cousin, Ser Cedric, she realized that they had both fallen silent.
"A country cannot claim a heart, Gael, but it will take a head."
She smiled, though there was no humor in his words. Her finger traveled round the rim of her glass slowly. "You are a wise man, ser, but you think too literally."
"It does not scare you?"
"The power of the people? Never."
"They say a woman rules with her heart and not with her head."
"And they say a child is not fit to rule a country. Am I not both a child and a woman? And yet my enemies still piss their breeches when they hear my name and see my lands," she lifted her eyes to his face. Her voice was steady as she spoke but her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, her voice taking on a different kind of intensity and passion. "Woman are weak. Children are foolish…Where is this written? Who says so? Who ordered it to be thus? The Gods? Fate? I defy them! I've faced the assassins knives and lived - I will not have who I will be preached to me!"
Carrick looked at her for a long time, but did not dine to reply. Instead, he stood from his seat smoothly. "With your leave, m'lady, I will depart the feast now. Your weapons will not invent themselves."
Her grey eyes met his brown ones, and the fire that had burnt through her veins began to cool. Gods, when did it get so hard to hold a man's gaze? "You may go."
Her eyes followed him down the side of the hall, his black coat billowing round his knees as he strode down the side of the tables. Two guards opened the huge double doors for him, and he was gone.
Gael was suddenly aware of the music again, and the roaring of men's voices with the hub-bub of drunken talk.
Her hand relaxed round her wine cup and she realized that her fingers were numb and sore from her tight grip. She flexed them, wincing at the stiffness, and tried to compose herself.
"You know what I think of that man."
Gael turned to look at her steward, Cassain. His face was troubled – there were new lines furrowed in his forehead and bracketing his mouth that had not been there but weeks ago. He had taken on just as many cares as she had after she had declared war on Robert Baratheon.
Her heart pinched. "I do," she replied, her voice as heavy as lead.
Carrick Bain was a murderer. A liar. And he was condemned to die at the end of his service to her.
That night, the air was rent with a sound that resembled a lightening bolt striking stone – a loud crack. It was repeated an hour later, and then the hour after that.
Gael lay in bed, listening to the darkness. The first time, she had waited for the thunder, but after three minutes of counting she realized that it would never come.
The noise scared the horses in Atlara below; they whinnied in their stables, terrified, and there was the sound of a hundred birds screaming as they took flight in alarm. The sound was unearthly, unnatural.
Altara slept on, and after several hours of silence, eventually, so did she.
"What's happened?" Gael demanded, striding into her council chambers early the next morning.
"My Lady," said Bard, bowing. The usual people of importance were gathered round her table, including some of the more distant Blackmore lords – Lord Matrim Blackmote and his son, along with the portly form of Pedrin Niall – who had fathered three times as many bastards as he had true-born children - and Lews Quain; named thus because his ancestors had built the seaport. Their presence worried her – they must have ridden here in some haste.
All of the men stood and saluted or bowed as Bard had done when she entered the room, but she had little patience for formalities. "Well?" she pushed.
"There are reports coming in from our spies in Highgarden," said Bard. "Robert Baratheon has sent an army forth to Blackmore of a thousand men. They do not march with provisions or weapons for siege, only open warfare. They mean to engage us in battle."
"How many days away are they from our boarders?"
"Three."
Cassain knuckled his mustache. "Highgarden. They'll be making for the North-Western boarder –" he tailed off pointedly as Lord Matrim Blackmore leant across the table. "Those are my lands, m'lady. We will be overwhelmed easily if we do not have the aid of the Altaran Army."
"You shall," she reassured him, but frowned all the same. "I did not expect Robert to attack after such a prolonged silence. We planned to be the ones to bring the battle to them."
"We did," agreed Bard, and the tone of his voice made Gael role her eyes in exasperation.
"You're going to tell me that a plan, in warfare, lasts only until the first sword is drawn, aren't you?" she asked, dryly. "Or maybe until the first arrow falls?"
"Or our youngest ruler is caught unawares by a fool," he muttered under his breath.
"Not taken unawares," she snapped, pride stung. She strode over to the table and surveyed the map the men had unfurled on it for a while. "How many of the Altaran Army can we spare to add to Lord Blackmote's men?"
"Only four hundred at present," replied Garrett in his usual, husky voice. He was sat beside Ser Cedric. "The three thousand we enlisted weeks ago are ill-prepared for a battle as of yet and the five-thousand we originally had are training in Lugard – they will not make the north-western border in three days. It would take at least one to send the message to gather arms."
Gael looked at Cassain. "How long 'till Stannis's men arrive?"
"They will land in Kandor in a day. If our men can hold out for two days against Robert's men, we will have two thousand men to back us up and seven thousand more will come across the sea after them."
"That's eight hundred men to hold out against one thousand." Gael chewed on her lower lip for a while. "Meeting that number in open warfare would be folly. Our forces would have to meet somewhere constrained – someone –" her eyes stopped roaming the map and she smiled. "Somewhere like Greybone Pass. It's barely wide enough to let fifteen men forward at a time. Numbers would matter little there."
"Aye," said her Uncle – Kane. He stood from his seat and walked round the table to stand at his niece's side to survey the map. Unlike his nephews, Cedric and Leon, who had the traditional Blackmore blond-orange hair, his hair and beard were brown – as Garret's was – and streaked with silver. "We could use Higher Greybone Pass for harrying – hit them with a constant wave of arrows. They don't know the land, they won't be able to get up there, and it's too high for the range of anything they'll have so they won't be able to hit us."
Gael nodded. "When they see that they have to meet us at the pass, though, they won't want to charge. Make it clear that if they don't, our bowmen will wear them down to nothing."
Kane looked at her. "You would have me lead?"
She smiled. "I could think of no-one better."
"I will fight at your side with pride, then." Lord Matrim stood, clapping Kane on the shoulder. He was taller than her Uncle, and more heavily built with shoulders and arms that could make a blacksmith envious. For such a man, however, he had a surprisingly eloquent voice compared to Gael's Uncle's gruff manner of speaking. "My son, too."
Here, Gael hesitated. Uno Blackmote was several years younger than himself, and could only have just seen his fourteenth name day. He may have had his father's shoulders, but the innocence in his eyes spoke volumes.
Garrett had been just as young as that, though, when he had rode with their father during Robert's rebellion – it was not her place to stand against a father's decision for their son. "Of course," she said, eventually, nodding. "Do we know who leads them?"
She noticed Garrett's mouth tighten, and his hand drifted to the pommel of his sword. "Renly Baratheon."
"Renly?" It was not Gael who had spoken, but Leon. For her part, she looked as if she'd been slapped, thoroughly taken aback by the news, on his, her slightly older cousin spoke as if he'd just heard a particularly bad joke. "You can't be serious! Robert can't send his first army headed by Renly Baratheon."
"He can and he has," returned Garrett, grimly.
"Has he ever fought in a battle before?!"
Have you? Gael thought to herself, but did not voice the sentiment aloud. "Robert would not send someone as inexperienced as Renly to lead his men – even if he does not perceive us a threat. Who else rides with them?"
"Kevan Lannister – Tywin Lannister's elder brother."
That was more to her expecations. Gael recalled Carrick Bain's story from the night before, and remembered that Kevan Lannister had been mentioned. It was said the man was loyal and reliable – and constantly lived in the shadow of Tywin Lannister. Despite that, the man was experienced in warfare, there was no doubt. A good choice.
"We must ride out at once," declared Kane, "and gather the troops."
Gael looked at Garrett and Cedric. "It's not good enough that the best of our men are several leagues away in Lugard. Ride out and station the men at the boarders – if there's a second wave I want to be prepared. Commission the masons to build watch towers every ten miles along our boundaries."
"As you wish."
"Bard, continue training our new recruits as usual and Leon? Send a raven out to Byrde, I want to give him orders regarding the Clanns."
"What land will you give them?"
Again, Gael's knife wound itched. Under the material of her dress, the bandage was bulky and uncomfortable and peeked out over her neckline. "Dorne," she replied. "House Martell are too loyal to the Targaryan's to side with us, and seeing as this Targaryan prince and princess across the sea want me dead, it would be better to eliminate that threat now before something becomes of it."
Cassain threw her the kind of look he always did when she made a decision with out consulting him, but she ignored him.
"Who commands the men Stannis has sent to me?"
"Davos Seaworth, m'lady," her steward replied. "A good man."
"I'm sure. When they land in Kandor, tell Lord Raygmar to send men with one thousand of Stannis's to guide them to Greybone Pass, and tell Davos Seaworth to come to Altara directly with the remaining thousand."
"You would not have him lead his own men in battle?"
"He'll have a second in command that can take his place," Gael deflected. "Robert sent Renly as a test to prove their worth to Highgarden, if it should go ill for us, and the Tyrell's side with the Baratheon's and Lannister's I want to be able to co-ordinate with our allies as soon as possible after the battle."
"Yes, our allies. What have the Tully's said?" asked Ser Cedric. He was a naturally suspicious man, and had voiced concerns over their alliance to the Tully's in the past. Because of that, he had never had an easy relationship with Gael's ward, Elayne. He had sharp and angular features, and eyes so grey that it was like she was looking through him, and seeing instead the grey-blue of the sky outside the windows of Queen's Fort.
"They support our cause but express concern at their isolation from our forces. If the Lannister's were to turn on them, they fear that we would not be at hand to help."
"The Stark's would jump to their defense should anything happen," Cassain dismissed. "Ned Stark is married to Catelyn Tully."
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Did that mean the Stark's were allied to the Blackmore's because of their hate of the Lannister's? Gael wasn't so sure. The Stark's were also the friend of her other enemy – the Baratheon's, or at least, one. You have Stannis, she reminded herself, and the Tully's.
Gael could not ignore, however, that her list of enemies was growing longer by the day. And now Dorne, she thought. They are fierce people, they will fight to the last man against Byrde's invasion.
Abruptly, one of her squire's – a young boy that she'd heard the other servant's call Flea – slipped through the doors into the council chambers. "A message for the Lady," he mumbled, stepping to her side quickly and surveying the grim looking men around the table with awe.
She took the role of parchment from his fingers with a brief smile and Flea hurried out of the room – throwing a last, wide-eyed look at Bard and his impressive broad-sword and Ser Cedric and Ser Leon, both wearing armor with the Blackmore sigil on their chests. Gael unfurled the piece of parchment she'd been given quickly.
On the page lay a few, simple sentences in an elegant cursive script.
First test of weapon last night a success. Second test this afternoon, please join me at Oakeley Quarry.
Despite herself, Gael felt her smile grow across her face.
It would never matter how many enemies stood against her, or how many assassins were sent for her as long as she had this one man at her side. As long as he was there, they would win.
A/N Hi! I made a trailer for this fic today, and you can watch it on youtube - just follow the link on my profile page!
Please review!
Last Of The Lilac Wine