BRYNDEN
The Eyrie, 304 AC.
Brynden sat in the Eyrie's sept with the lords of the Vale, watching the Eyrie's septon conduct the wedding of King Harrold Arryn to Ysolda Royce. They had waited for as short a time as was decent after King Robert Arryn's death for the marriage of King Harrold Arryn, formerly Ser Harrold Hardyng, to Lady Ysolda Royce.
It had been hard watching Robert die. After years of worsening illness, Lord Jon Arryn's only child had died in a shaking fit at the age of twelve. After all that Lord Jon and Lady Lysa had endured to produce a single male heir for House Arryn, the sole product of their union had died before ever reaching manhood. Even more tragic was the fact that while Brynden had been able to gradually improve Robert's character, nothing could be done to halt the ever-more-frequent shaking fits that plagued the boy-king. He could have grown up to be a fine man, like his father, but the Stranger chose to take him while he was still a boy. Brynden liked to think that Robert was now with his father, who could finally be proud of his only son. He also prayed to the Mother to show mercy to Lysa's soul, despite all that she had done. She should be reunited with her only child. Surely the gods will grant her that much mercy.
Brynden had stayed at the Eyrie to help smooth the transition between his regency and Harry's reign, and to attend the new king's wedding, but once the wedding celebrations were done he was leaving. First he would go to Winterfell, as it was the summer of this year, the best time to visit the North. He would finally see his great-great-nephew Crown Prince Eddard and Robb and Roslin's new babe, Princess Serena. He would also get to see Arya before she left for Braavos. Old Lord Walder had finally died and his heirs were squabbling, leaving the time ripe for Robb to break off Arya's betrothal to Elmar. In Robb's letter to Brynden his great-nephew had said that Elmar had actually come up with the plan himself—end the betrothal once Lord Walder was safely in the grave, then send Arya and Elmar to Braavos where the former could study water-dancing and the latter become a merchant. Brynden concluded that Elmar was much cleverer than he initially appeared. Thank the gods that Arya doesn't have to marry him.
Robb's letters had also included information about his plans for the Kingdom of the North and the Trident. Since Kevan Lannister was establishing the Lannisport Academy, Robb had decided to found the White Harbor Academy and the Maidenpool Academy. In the interests of economic development, he had granted charters to Winter Town, Barrowton, Torrhen's Square, Maidenpool, Saltpans, Lord Harroway's Town, Stoney Sept, Fairmarket, Seagard and Harrentown. He was currently negotiating with Mace Tyrell and Alester Florent, Lord Regent of the Storm Kingdom, over how the territory of the former Crownlands should be divided among their three respective kingdoms. Robb also wanted to improve his kingdom's infrastructure, starting with a canal between Seagard and the Blue Fork. This short canal, once completed, would dramatically shorten the travel distance between the Narrow and Sunset Seas. Now that they had charters, the ports of Maidenpool, Saltpans and Seagard would grow in wealth and size due to all of the commerce flowing through them.
Once Brynden was done visiting Winterfell he planned to go to Riverrun to see Edmure and his family. Edmure had written glowingly about his wife, Princess Margaery Tyrell, of her charm and grace and efficacy in managing the household. She was also an excellent diplomat and frequently advised him on political matters. Brynden was glad that his nephew, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, had married such a clever wife. Lady Ysolda was clever as well; Brynden hoped that Harrold would heed her counsel. Brynden suspected that between the two of them Lord Nestor Royce and the new Queen Ysolda would do most of the ruling in the Kingdom of Mountain and Vale. Just like Princess Margaery in all likelihood rules from Riverrun in all but name. Edmure was especially delighted that Margaery had just given him a son and heir in addition to their firstborn child, Olenna. Edmure had named his firstborn son Hoster. He honors his father. Brynden was looking forward to meeting his goodniece and his young great-nephew and great-niece. He might even make Riverrun his home again, after all of these years away. Hoster is no longer there to quarrel with me, and Edmure has always looked to me for guidance and comfort. Brynden was still in good health, but he was sixty years old and did not know how much longer he had to live. Hoster was the same age I am now when the disease finally carried him off. He prayed that he would not die like his brother, bedridden and wasting away over two long years, his wits completely gone by the time the Stranger finally had the mercy to take him.
Catelyn had written Brynden to let him know that Sansa was pregnant with her first child. Mother to the future King of the Rock. Thank the gods that Sansa had managed to stop hating Prince Willem. He's not bad, even if he is a Lannister. And a marriage alliance with the richest house in Westeros was most advantageous. Hoster's plan to marry him to Bethany Redwyne would have been advantageous, but Brynden had of course refused. He still didn't regret that refusal, even though it had meant years of bad blood between him and his brother. Poor Lysa hadn't been able to refuse the marriage alliance with House Arryn her father had arranged for her. Men have far more freedom than women. But Crown Prince Willem was young and handsome and courteous. Lysa would not have objected to marrying him. Indeed, she had been delighted when her father had told her she was to be betrothed to Jaime Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and astonishingly handsome, but then the future Kingslayer had joined the Kingsguard. Lysa had been devastated—not only would she never marry the handsome young knight and heir, but she had convinced herself that the only reason Jaime would give up his birthright to serve the Mad King was because he couldn't bear the thought of marrying her. "Why does he hate me?" she'd asked, sobbing. Everyone had assured her that there was nothing wrong with her, that her father would find another handsome young lord for her to marry, but she wouldn't believe them. That may have fueled her obsession with Littlefinger, culminating in her giving him her maidenhead and becoming pregnant with his seed. Hoster had given her moon tea without telling her—and then married her to a man old enough to be her grandfather, who knew of her dishonor. No wonder she never forgave either of them. But Sansa had no such tragedies in the story of her marriage. Brynden told himself that Sansa and Willem would have a happy marriage. They both deserve one.
Brynden had also heard the news that King Kevan was establishing Westeros's first bank, the Golden Bank of Casterly Rock. Everyone had always said that Kevan Lannister had never had a thought his elder brother Lord Tywin didn't have first—but Tywin was dead, and Kevan's new plan was bold indeed. With Tywin dead, Kevan has no shadow to live in. Many younger brothers lived under their eldest brother's shadow—but Brynden had refused to. He didn't regret it, despite all the years he'd spent estranged from his brother. I am my own man, and Hoster and I reconciled at the end. Still, Brynden wished he could have made peace with his brother before Hoster was on his deathbed, but that was the price for his independence. For not having to marry.
King Harrold stood tall and blond and handsome in a tunic of sky blue and cream samite brocade belted with a chain of sapphires and moonstones. On his brow was the crown of the King of Mountain and Vale, reforged by Gulltown's finest goldsmiths from the one Lysa had had made for Robert. The rim was white-gold, studded with moonstones and sapphires, the points seven blue jade falcon heads with moonstone eyes. The blue of the sapphires perfectly complemented Harrold's blue eyes. The goldsmiths of Gulltown had been commissioned to create a matching crown for Harrold's new consort. Harrold wore the Arryn wedding cloak of blue velvet lined with cream satin and embroidered with a moon of cream seed pearls and a falcon of blue jade beads.
Ysolda Royce was a tall slim girl whose ivory skin contrasted sharply with her dark brown hair. Her golden-brown eyes were bright and bold. The bodice of her gown was of black velvet embroidered with bronze scrollwork, its slashed vee covered with a panel of bronze Myrish lace. The sleeves of the gown were of bronze satin, the full skirts of bronze samite brocade. Around her shoulders was House Royce's maiden's cloak, bronze samite lined with black satin with runes embroidered with onyx studs.
Neither Harrold nor Ysolda were unhappy at the thought of marrying each other; they were both young and comely, and Harrold had matured in the few years he'd spent under Brynden's tutelage. Perhaps they might even grow to love one another. If Harrold found himself unable to keep to one bed, at least he would be discreet. He has enough sense not to shame his wife. I taught him that.
Bronze Yohn removed his daughter's maiden's cloak. Harrold then swept House Arryn's bridal cloak around her shoulders. Now it was time for the vows. By tradition, the bride spoke first. "With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband," Ysolda said.
"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife," Harrold responded. Their kiss was surprisingly smooth. Brynden had thought it would be awkward. They didn't love each other—but neither had Ned and Cat when they married. Perhaps the gods would be good enough to let them grow to love each other.
The ceremony complete, everyone left the sept for the High Hall, where a great feast awaited. Lady Waynwood and her sons sat on Harrold's side, while Bronze Yohn sat on Ysolda's side along with his son and gooddaughter. Lord Royce had married his heir to Wylla Manderly, granddaughter of Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor. Wylla wore a seafoam green gown of sheer silk and Myrish lace with wave patterns embroidered with seed pearls. Her blonde hair was streaked with sea green in the Tyroshi style. Wylla had already born Ser Andar a son, a babe named Robar. Brynden hoped that Harrold would have better luck siring heirs than Lord Jon had. House Arryn needed male heirs, and everyone in the Vale was praying that Ysolda would soon produce one. That is what highborn wives are for, birthing their husbands sons and heirs, like brood mares. With every pregnancy, women faced the possibility of dying in childbirth, of their babes being stillborn or dying in infancy. Brynden hoped that none of these ill fates should befall Ysolda. Sansa and Roslin faced the same dangers, as did all wives. No man ever died from siring children.
"What are your plans for your kingdom, now, Your Grace?" Lady Waynwood's grandson asked his former foster brother.
"Lord Nestor and I have decided to build an Academy at Gulltown," Harrold answered with as much gravity as he could muster. Brynden knew that the Academy had been Lord Nestor's idea, but at least Harrold had recognized a good idea when he saw one. A useful quality for a king.
"King Robb is founding two academies," Brynden said. "One at White Harbor, one at Maidenpool. After all, his kingdom is by far the largest in Westeros." Largest in area, but not in population, wealth or power. Robb is working on that.
"All the sailors in Gulltown are full of news about the war in the East," Lord Nestor said. "With the aid of the Targaryens, revolting slaves have taken over Volantis."
"That's so heroic of the Targaryens!" Wylla exclaims. "Helping the slaves win their freedom."
"Well, the Volantenes were fools for using slaves as their soldiers and sailors and watchmen," Ysolda pointed out. "Especially considering that the slaves outnumber freeborn five to one."
"The new Sealord of Braavos also sent the Braavosi navy to aid in their war with Volantis and Qarth," Lord Nestor said. "And the three dragons are said to have destroyed most of the Qartheen war fleet in a vast conflagration the sailors are calling 'The Sea of Fire.'"
"Ser Brynden has seen all three dragons himself," Wylla said excitedly. "So did my father and Uncle Wendel when they went with King Robb to the Wall to fight the Others. What were the dragons like, Ser Brynden?" Monstrous. Terrifying.
"They were vast in size, and both terrible and beautiful," Brynden said, the images of the dragons as clear in his mind as when he'd first laid eyes on them. "Aegon Targaryen rode Rhaegal, whose scales were deep green and bronze. Jon Snow rode Viserion. Viserion was the most beautiful of the three, with cream-colored scales and golden horns, spinal crest and wing bones. And Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter who'd hatched the three dragon's eggs in the Dothraki Sea and brought them halfway around the world, she rode the largest and most terrible one of all, Drogon. Drogon was black as midnight, his horns and spinal plates red as blood.
"So it's the woman who rides the largest dragon," said Wylla approvingly. "Didn't one of the dragons come up here to the Eyrie?" she asked, her face shining with eagerness.
"Yes," Brynden said guardedly, not wishing to discuss that terrible day.
"Which one was it?"
"Drogon, and his rider Daenerys Targaryen."
"She saved you from the traitor Littlefinger, didn't she, just like she and her nephews saved us all from the Others?"
"Wylla!" Bronze Yohn admonished his gooddaughter.
"I meant no offense, Ser Brynden," Wylla said, slightly chastened.
"None taken," Brynden said. "I owe my life to Daenerys Targaryen. If it weren't for her Baelish would have killed me like he killed Lady Lysa. Daenerys was even kind enough to give little King Robert a ride on her dragon." Brynden felt sad as he remembered how happy Robert had been to ride a dragon, how he'd learned everything he could about dragons and the Winged Night, and how a few years later he'd died a terrible death, shaking and writhing and choking until his face was blue. Thank the gods neither Lysa nor Jon lived to see him die.
"I'd love to ride a dragon," Wylla said, oblivious to Brynden's pain. She knows nothing of dragons. She has never seen one burn a screaming man to ashes. Dragons were not palfreys; they were the most terrible weapons of war ever known. And now they are back.
"You'll have to go find one of the Targaryens, then," Harrold pointed out to her. "Even if you did, they might not let you ride their dragon."
"Speaking of the Targaryens," Lord Nestor said, "the Tyroshis and Lyseni in Gulltown all say they've greatly decreased the supply of slaves. Volantis and Qarth hoped to restore slavery to Slaver's Bay by slaying the Targaryens and their dragons, but it looks like the Targaryens are winning the war."
"Well, that's good," Wylla said.
"Yes and no," Lord Nestor said. "Far fewer people are being enslaved, but the shortage of slaves has driven up their price and driven slavers from Tyrosh and Lys and elsewhere to raid aggressively wherever they can, like Naath and the Summer Isles. The Tyroshis even talk of perhaps sailing north to raid the Wildling settlements."
Now Brynden was interested. "Wildlings, Lord Nestor?" he asked urgently. "Are you sure of this?"
"It's only sailors' gossip, and it may be still only an idea, but still"—
"Your Grace, you must summon Maester Colemon immediately and have him send this news to King Robb and Lord Manderly of White Harbor," Brynden said to Harrold.
"Do you think they'll even care?" Harrold asked. "The Gift—that's not part of Robb's kingdom, and the Northmen and the Wildlings have been enemies for centuries, if not millennia."
"His Grace will care," Brynden insisted. "A slaver's life is forfeit anywhere in Westeros."
"Is it?" Harrold was skeptical. "If the Tyroshis choose to raid north of the borders of Robb's kingdom, has he any authority to execute them?"
"Authority or no authority, the Tyroshis will not be able to do anything about it."
"It's not just the Tyroshis," Ysolda spoke. "Will King Robb's bannermen support him in this? Fight to save Wildlings?"
Brynden had not thought of that. The Umbers certainly would not be pleased, nor probably would the rest of the Northern lords, either. "His Grace has led his bannermen to victory against both Tywin Lannister and the Others," Brynden said. "He made the North an independent kingdom again for the first time in three centuries. They will follow him." But Tywin Lannister had been mysteriously assassinated in his own tent, King's Landing and the Iron Throne had burned to the ground, and three Targaryens and three dragons had helped to destroy the Others. Robb's men worship him anyway. They will help him save the Wildlings if he commands them to.
"I will summon Maester Colemon," Harrold said. "The Northmen may not be as eager to rescue the Wildlings as you are, Ser Brynden, but that is up to King Robb and his bannermen." Please gods, let them heed me.
After Maester Colemon left to send ravens to Winterfell and White Harbor the feast continued, and then the bedding. As he helped undress and carry Ysolda to the royal bedchamber Brynden silently prayed for her, prayed that she would not hurt when Harrold took her maidenhead, prayed that their marriage would be a happy one, with healthy sons, and daughters as well. After the newly wedded couple were bundled into their bed and left alone in their bedchamber, Brynden told himself to continue to pray for Ysolda just like he did for Jon and Robert and Lysa. The gods are just, and also merciful.
