CHAPTER 2 – THE MOUNTAIN
She woke in his arms, and discovered a smile on her face recalling the day past. She tried to turn, reaching for a goblet of spring water left on the table nearby to sate her thirst but found that every part of her body ached from her back to her legs, and the muscles rippled in protest. His arms tightened around her, and she looked back into his open eyes. He stroked her cheek lovingly.
"Good morning, my beautiful wife." he greeted smiling, and her hands went to his face, cold fingers tenderly tracing the lines of the scars.
"Good morning, my dear lord husband." she returned, and they kissed. He held her close against him, their skin tickling where it touched. They managed to tear themselves away from the comforting bed, dressed and met their families and many of the guests in the feast hall where the feast never ended. Many lords made their way home that day, and lord Rychard Taugere thought it best to return home as well, and left Pale Haven that day. They stood on the steps that entered Pale Haven, Claira on the arm of her husband. His father approached them after seeing that the wheelhouse, properly protected pulled through the castle gates.
"All is prepared for our journey back." he announced as his great black warhorse was led to the bottom of the stairs. Claira looked up at Raeghun.
"Must we leave today as well?" she asked softly, and he looked back at her. With a soft smile, he kissed her hair.
"We can stay another day, or two." he agreed, and looked back at his father. Lord Rychard smirked at his son.
"Don't keep us waiting, Raeghun. Our vassals will mass at Mount Ardor to welcome you, and your lady wife." he said as he turned around and marched down the steps.
"I leave eight guards with you!" he called back, and then grabbed one of the nearby guards, hauling him closer by his neckband.
"Anything happens to my son and daughter, I'll use your face for a decoration in my hall!" he assured, and then mounted while the soldier corrected himself. He looked back at his family by law.
"Fair winds, and warm days to you; Tormonts. If you are ever in need, call on the lords of the Corridor." he offered, and then secured the reins and cantered off with the departing mass to assume his position at the front of the column.
"Your father is harsh..." Claira whispered, and Raeghun brought his lips close to her face.
"He is very harsh, and you'll see it a lot. But under his occasional unpleasantness, he is kind and just." he said. They spent the remainder of the day feasting with those whom have not left, and seeing off those whom did. Each of the nobles that attended, presented a gift before departing. A stag's head, a chest of silver, gold and jewels adorned with a lion's head lock. A fine yew-wood bow, pelts, dresses, spices, rugs, oils and other fineries. They relished the white castle and its people well into the night before returning to their bed chamber, and further revelled in each other's. In the early morning when mist still hung heavy over the fields, the lords went out on a hunt while Claira took charge of overseeing the packing of her personal effects. A wagon stood near the stables, crates and chests and bags were loaded and covered with a canvas. The lords brought back a boar that the huntsman and his loyal hounds tracked down, and they enjoyed the succulent roast at their evening along with lard-baked potatoes, buttered turnips, smoked cheese, greens, spiced wine and gooseberry pies with honey and curdled cream. It was the final great feast they would share before Claira would leave her old home for a new one. Claira retired to their chamber after her mother and younger siblings excused themselves, and Raeghun remained with her father and Gerald in the hall until the hearth-fire started to wane.
"You must long for home, Raeghun." her father assumed as he brought the chalice to his mouth, and he was met with clear smiling blue eyes.
"I should. But to be quite honest, I don't mind the foreign sojourn. I've never been north of the Corridor; I've been as far south as King's Landing, once." he said, and Gerald grinned as he set the goblet down.
"And how did you find it? The majority of people are quite outspoken about our great capital." he mentioned, and Raeghun scoffed.
"It's a beautiful city; but it stinks of shit and death. I wouldn't pay a visit to it again just for fun." he said, and they shared a laugh.
"Tell us about your home. It's sometimes called the 'burning mountain', isn't it?" Willmon continued.
"Yes, some refer to it that way. Mostly for it's position, though; when the sunlight catches the walls just right at sunset, the walls seem to blaze." he told with a smile, seeing it in his mind. Gerald sighed, staring into the red of his goblet.
"Do you believe that my sister will be happy there?" he asked softly, and then emptied the contents. Raeghun regarded him with his calm blue eyes, lord Willmon sat silently awaiting the answer.
"I hope that she will be. I will do everything in my power to see that she is." he said, running his finger along the edge of the goblet in front of him.
"Good. See that you have a full stable." Willmon said, and they laughed again. They talked and talked, until finally there was but smouldering coals left in the hearth and they took their leave from the hall. He found her already asleep, and stroked her long hair across her shoulder and arm before wrapping his strong arms around her, and sometime during the night he made love to her again.
The portcullis opened to a vast space, the long road spanning the way to the horizon. A skewbald mare was harnessed to the wagon, and stood prepared and waiting outside, stowed with chests of clothing and other personal items. Arima came from the kitchens and handed a small sack to Claira. "For the road, but I'm not sure if it will last very long." she pointed out, and Claira opened the bag. It was stuffed with golden baked crispels; and she chuckled.
"I'll have to hide these, or they'll be gone before we reach the horizon." The lord and his personal company's horses were brought from the stables to be brushed and saddled for their journey. The Tormont family stood on the castle steps to greet their daughter farewell, Carissa could not manage to keep the tears at bay. Claira held her soothingly.
"I'm not going that far, you can still come and visit us." she calmed, and the little minx wiped the sorrow from her eyes.
"Shall we prepare a wheelhouse for you, my lady?" one of the castle hands came asking.
"No. I want to ride." she declined, and left the castle hand silent for a blink of an eye, looking confused.
"It's a week's ride to Mount Ardor, my lady." he advised.
"I want to ride." she insisted, and they brought her horse to join the others waiting to be groomed. They shared their goodbyes with sure hands and lingering embraces; and when their company was fully prepared; they made their way to their waiting mounts and Oda followed. Raeghun stopped, as if a thought had befallen him and he turned to his wife.
"I have something for you." he said, and made his way to the wagon and got onto the back of it. He removed the canvass and opened one of the chest, after a moment of rummaging he closed it again and stepped off, leaving the attending castle hands to replace the canvass and finish tying down the free objects. He came over, and presented a folded soft velvet material to her, tied with a green ribbon. She took it, and spread the fabric after removing the thread. It was a long hooded cloak of deep red, as dark as wine and lined with silver on the inside.
"Thank you. It's lovely." she tied it around her shoulders, the seam dragged behind her on the ground. She tied the ribbon to her sister's braid, and then Claira looked down to rub Oda's head.
"May my dog come with me?" she asked, and her husband smiled at her from where he checked the girth strap to his horse and hen came to her.
"My dear lady wife; you don't ask me if your dog may come. You tell me that she will come, and that is that." he said as he helped his wife onto her pale grey mare before mounting his black stallion, as great and spirited as his father's; and they departed Pale Haven. Oda loped alongside her master. Two guards led the way, bearing the Taugere banners, four around the lord and lady, and the final two at the base of their column behind the wagon. The journey was blissfully uneventful as they travelled beneath trees, along streams and flower grown hills; between camps they were hosted at a small hold and one overcast evening stayed at an inn. The Ivory Pitcher was a large farm just off the King's Road that was used to harbour travellers. The kind and burly inn keeper offered them the best to his abilities, a large private chamber to the back of the building with it's own fireplace, a feather bed and a table arrayed with food and drink. The guards spent the night in at the counter drinking, singing, japing and gambling. Raeghun sat on the sheepskin rug next to the bed, allowing the heat from the fire to soak into his cool bare skin, while Claira's icy fingertips caressed his scarred shoulders from her position on the bed. They listened to the thunder from outside.
"What is Mount Ardor like?" she asked, curious about the place that awaits them.
"It doesn't have the high towers that Pale Haven does, but it's a sizeable fortification built entirely of sunstone. It sits on a cliff surrounded by ocean, a single bridge connects the only gate to the countryside. There's a little town a short ride from the castle called Garde's Post. From the Suntower, on a bright day you can see one of the Twins. The Corridor is called the "gold fields"; for all the honey farms, our countryside supplies the extent of Westeros from the Wall to Dorne." he explained.
"It sounds grand." she said smiling, then he turned around and looked into her eyes, frost blue eyes some shades lighter than his own.
"It's nowhere near as grand as you. When I saw you, I thought I died and stepped into one of the heavens." he said and kissed her. Her hand wound around his neck, and he joined her on the bed.
By mid day on the seventh day, they ascended the side of a green hill; and heard a horn blowing in the distance followed by the tolling of bells. As they reached the top, Oda trotted off ahead leading the way, and a great sunstone castle came into view.
"Welcome my lady, to Mount Ardor." A sense of giddiness washed over her at the sight of it; Mount Ardor – amply named, it lay like a mountain before them; and may well have been three times the size of Pale Haven. A bridge spanned a steep drop to the portcullis, sentinelled by two towers; high stone walls protected it from the elements and a heavy iron gate kept the way. They crossed the bridge and passed under the gate opened to them into the outer bailey. A stable and armoury lined the right side wall, and a short stairwell led to the barracks which was attached to the castle itself, and a storehouse stood to the left. They entered to find a horde of castle hands waiting for them, and lord Rychard Taugere coming down the steps with his lady wife Madryde and lady Mae beside him.
"Welcome home. It's about time you've arrived." he welcomed as he came over and Raeghun dismounted.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting, father." he said, and went around to help Claira from hers.
"Get busy! Unload the carts, get everything in order! Have my daughter's belongings brought to the lords wing!" lord Rychard commanded, and the castle hands scattered like rats in the light, leading horses to the stables and unloading the cart as the family returned inside. They toured the castle on their way through to the private chambers. The Hall of Fire was immense, it resembled an expanded variant of the throne room of the Red Keep; the way it was once described to her. A great arched door stood open to their left, and revealed another great stone hall where people assembled amidst tables and glowing hearths. A smaller door cast a glow from the corner where castle hands exchanged old or empty items for new ones. A third door was set to the right, the sounds of guards clamouring and bickering or japing sounded through it. A throne loomed over the hall from atop the stone stairway, a great eagle perched on top like it was ready to swoop down and claim its prey; the armrests the likeness of talons, and behind it burned a great fireplace as wide and high as lord Rychard was tall. Two more sets of stairs astride the great hearth led to a third level, tall doors opened on each side leading to more chambers. Handmaidens and castle hands carried bottles of wine and trays and chairs and tables and goblets and sheets and other things up and down and across their view. A wide inclined plane led them further into the castle, dozens of torches lined each wall. In the hallway, several handmaidens were talking softly and giggling while they stared at the new lady. It made her feel uncomfortable, and she moved closer to her husband. Rychard looked at them sharply.
"Away with you! I'll have no squawking hens in my halls!" they scampered off, and they continued their way up the corridor, but he looked back at her. The power he had, the energy emitting off of him was as vast as this castle; but under that there was a gentleness.
"Don't mind them, they're not being bitter. They're fascinated by your hair." he said, and then turned his attention back to the way forward.
"You may choose any three handmaidens in the castle for your personal care." he offered. Finally they stopped in front of a huge dark-wood and steel door. He took the handles and pushed the doors, they swung open to reveal yet another great hall.
"Welcome my daughter, to the lords wing. This is our inner sanctum; a safe place for the Taugere family. Our sanctuary. The walls here are three times as thick as anywhere else in the castle." he said; she couldn't think of anything to say. Raeghun took her shoulders.
"Do you like it?" he asked softly. Oda immediately entered, heading out the door to explore the private garden.
"This place, is wonderful. I've never imagined anything so magnificent." she turned around to face him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"This is your home, now. I want you to be happy here." he assured, and their faces touched.
"Show your wife to the bath chamber; I'm sure you would enjoy a wash. After, you will join us in the southern hall, many of our noblemen have come to welcome you and your bride home." lord Rychard said, and headed back the way he came.
"Don't take too long." lady Madryde hinted as she and her daughter left behind the lord. Raeghun kissed Claira's cold hands.
"Come, I'm sure you will love this." he urged, and then led her further into the wing to a great chamber with a wide tiled bath. In the centre, a pillar raised with water fountaining from it. White flowers and green leaves floated on the water, steam rising from the surface. Black pods dotted the bottom of the bath. Golden sunlight filtered down from high set windows Again, she was speechless. He pulled on a gold thread rope, and a heavy red curtain closed over the entrance to the bath chamber.
"This is the Vanilla bath, there are two others like it. The Mint bath in the east, and the Lavender bath in the west." he said, silently removing the cloak from his shoulders.
"I... never... This is..." she couldn't think of anything, then his fingers were on her mouth and he hushed her. Then he moved forward, and kissed her while his hands gently released her from her dress. When they were both released from their garbs, he led her into the warm water until it splashed around her waist and steaming water spilled into the bath beside them. He took a silver pitcher from the base holding the pillar, filled it with water from the spring and spilled it across her shoulders, back and chest.
"What do you think?" he whispered.
"I do love it." she said laughing, then he replaced the ewer on the platform and wrapped her in his arms.
"I've just realized something." he said smiling, his blue eyes sparking with light.
"And what is that, my sweet?" she smiled back at him, arms anchoring around his shoulders.
"That I love you." she leaned forward and kissed him deeply; his arms tightened around her.
"And I love you, by every god there ever was or will be, I swear it." she whispered when her cheek found his throat. But she looked back at him.
"It just feels unusual, to have your father refer to me as 'his daughter'." his hand touched her face.
"You are his daughter. You're my wife. I am yours, and you are mine. You are a part of me." then he kissed her again, deeply and passionately while her arms coiled around him. When they were finished lavishing in the bath, seven handmaidens waited outside in the hall, clamoured together like a flock of geese expecting a handout of bread, each holding a dress chosen for the feast. White and green and red and purple and blue and gold and black; all smiling excitedly.
"My lady. Please accept my choice for you!" they all seemed to cry at once. Raeghun stepped in front of her.
"Girls, please show some respect for your lady. You don't wish to overwhelm her on her first day here, do you?" he said.
"Our apologies, my lord." they lined up and displayed the dresses. She looked at her husband.
"Whatever you choose, you'll look endearing." he assured, and excused himself to dress for the banquet. She chose a gown of red and gold, and sat patiently in front of the fireplace while the maidens fought over who would have the honour of brushing out her bewitching hair, which again they did by taking turns. She laughed. 'It's just like it was back home...' Around her throat they hung a delicate string of gold and pearls. Finally ready, she descended the stairs to the hall where Raeghun was waiting or her.
"You look ravishing, my lady." he praised as he held his hand for her. Together, they made their way down the halls to the southern feast hall, where the banquet was well under way by the sound of laughter, song and music. They entered the hall, and silence took it like water washing over a stony shore. The lords stood as they passed and took their place beside lord Rychard. Lord Gerard Foch was the first of the vassals to extend a hand to Claira.
"Such a wondrous beauty, lord Raeghun." he complimented as she offered her fingers to the battle worn gentleman.
"We wish you every blessing, and a thousand years of happiness, lady Claira." he said, and kissed her fingertips politely. He, not much unlike lord Rychard was a large man; it was only fitting that the sigil embroidered on his doublet was a brown woolly mammoth with long arched tusks on a silver shield. Most of the other lords and their families shared his enthusiasm, but some did not. The evening pressed on, and Claira found herself drowned in the kindness and credence of the vassal lords and their dear wives and sons and daughters. Wine and ale flowed in abundance, dishes were cleared and replaced; and the hearths glowed warm. The night turned out to be sufficiently pleasant. She leaned over to Raeghun.
"May I be excused, my lord? Much to my dislike, I fear that a soft bed calls to me." she hinted, and he squeezed her fingers gently.
"Of course, my dear one." he acknowledged, and she moved to stand up. Suddenly, on the other side of a long table set out in front of them, a lord leapt to his feet; the chair crashing over behind him as he pointed at her; his face red and hardened.
"Look at her. She's not a woman, she's a wintergreen witch!" he accused, she paused as her heart skipped a beat. Raeghun stared at him, blue eyes burning furiously.
"You are addressing my wife, lord Coder. You will honour her just as much as any other Taugere, lord or lady." he ordered, calmer than was expected by the rebellious man. He leaned forward on the table.
"I will not bow a finger to a northern hag!" Lord Rychard stood abruptly, his voice roaring in the space so intense that the walls could have crumbled.
"She is my daughter! You will show the proper respect, or leave my hall and my lands!" he commanded, and lord Coder retreated; pushed back simply by the fierce energy. Raeghun laid an arm protectively across her lap.
"You've made a mistake." the man managed, and Rychard resumed his place.
"I expect that your estate will be evicted before the next full moon, lord Coder. It is not your place to question your liege lord's actions." he declared. Furious and defeated, he stormed out. Rychard scanned the remainder of his guests.
"Does anyone else wish to join him?" he demanded, but no one moved. If anyone did share the feelings of the recently dishonoured lord Coder, they would rather keep their silence than lose their seat. He replaced his goblet on the table, then stood and held his hand for lady Madryde.
"Well, I expect you all know where to find your chambers." he said as they prepared to leave, and made their way back to the lord's wing. Claira could hear the voices as they walked up the halls; it seemed that they resumed the festivities, there may have been a more subtle argument. With the handmaidens dismissed and the door shut, lord Rychard bid his wife and daughter goodnight, and assumed a place in front of the fireplace with a fresh chalice of sweet red in his hand.
"Good night, father." Raeghun bid at the bottom of the staircase, Rychard looked at them and nodded before returning his attention to the fire. He led her up the stairs, but she suddenly paused.
"Is something wrong?" he asked looking back at her.
"No, nothing is wrong. Go on ahead, I'll join you shortly." Claira said and kissed his cheek before turning around and returning to the hall. She found lord Rychard Taugere where they left him in front of the great hearth.
"My lord?" he lifted his head slightly.
"Thank you, for what you've done." she said softly.
"You're my daughter, Claira; just as much as your own father's; or my own daughters. I had three, you know. One was tragically stolen from us by fever; another is happily married and enjoying life in the sun kissed city of Pentos, my last will join her betrothed in the reach in a year or two. As a father, you do everything in your power to keep your family safe – your whole family. You are the only of my daughters whom will keep my name. It is the sons that carry the name forward, but the daughters that bind the family together. You're not only under the protection of your husband, but also mine as the liege lord. He is my only son, and in a few years, he will inherit this power, and all of its responsibilities." his attention never left the dancing flames.
"My only son... And we almost lost him, too..." his mind was wandering.
"He may have been ten and five, maybe six. We were out hunting; our target was an old stag. A lion – probably old or sick and starving pounced Raeghun. From where he received his strength that day, the gods only know. He killed it with his bare hands... He jests about it, but..." and then he returned to the present.
"It must have been appalling." she could feel the energy still, like seeing the memory.
"One of the worst days of our lives. He'll bear those scars his whole life. Maester Aldyn said if he survived the night, it would be by the mother's grace alone. And he did. This day he is a man." he smiled, sitting back in his chair.
"He will be a good husband to you, and I have every faith that you will be content here." he finished
"What lord Coder said..." she started, but didn't quite know how to continue.
"Don't mind what he said; he's angry that I did not accept his offer to wed his daughter to my son, and regretfully the wine and ale severed his will for sense. He may not have meant what he said, but words said can never be taken back." then his eyes went up to the sword on the mantle for a moment, and then he looked at her.
"We've always been more north than south. And I may not be from the deep north like you, my girl. But I know the things that have happened, things that were done… words that were said. When you were a tiny little thing, rumours gave you Targaryen blood for the white in your hair. But that… That's not the dragon's blood. Thát is winter in you." she couldn't think of anything to say, then his attention went back to the fire and she could hear him sigh.
"You're gentle, Claira. Some... No, too many will try to take advantage of that." and she knew it to be true. He looked up and focused on the giant form on the wall above the fireplace.
"Look up there. What do you see?" he asked, pointing at the sculpture. She took some steps closer.
"An eagle." she identified, and he sniggered slightly.
"Close, but no. It's a phoenix. Do you know anything of them?" he corrected.
"I know they're strong. And they can't die." she tried to recall the mythology with their maester.
"Yes, they are strong. And proud. But they can die. The thing about them though is, they don't stay dead. They rise again. Our words, are not a boast, nor a threat. It is a promise, to other houses and ourselves. From the Ashes we Rise. Stronger we Rise." she stared at the burning bird, taking in everything about it.