A/N: Hey guys. Happy New Year!
Sit, relax, and enjoy.
Chapter 25: The Old Gods and the New
The entire party was thankful to be back on a proper road. Ironic, since Brandon Snow doubted any of them had seen a paved road for the first half of their lives - he loved his homeland, but even the most ardent patriot of the North would be forced to admit the land was largely virgin and undeveloped in a way the Andal and Rhoynish 'Sunset Kingdoms' south of the Neck simply weren't. Oh, they were undeveloped too compared to that of Old Valyria or the Ghiscari lands, but they weren't as massive.
Lord Torrhen thought so, which was why he used his influence as Hand of the King to begin construction of the 'Kingsroad' under the charter of King Aegon I. Two halves had been constructed, one from King's Landing to Harrenhal and one from Winterfell to White Harbor.
The party of fifty horsemen had traversed the former in the matter of about five days, and after a stop at Harrenhal under the hospitality of Lord Daeron - and Ser Gargon, though Brandon wouldn't exactly call his treatment hospitality - they were back on a fast gallop through the Crownlands towards the capitol.
"Gods, it's hot!" someone complained behind him.
"Then take off your fuckin' furs, you stupid cunt," another shot back, this one with a feminine voice. The profanity was part of the charm of a proper Northern woman, Brandon knew - smirking with fond memories. "Yer' dressed like yer' goin' north of the Wall."
Her companion hissed over the clatter of galloping hooves. "Do you think I want these fuckin' southerners to think I'm some prissy tourney knight? I think not."
A groan. "They won't ever think that. You're wearing the sigil of a fuckin' bear on your tunic!"
Biting back a laugh, when the argument descended into the mere throwing of epithets with a wild abandon, Brandon sighed and eased the reins of his steed back into a slow trot. "Alright!" He turned in the saddle and glared at the two youths riding behind him. "Both of you shut it. There's being siblings and then there's being right cunts… also you're getting my ire."
At the sharp scolding, both youths looked down at their mounts' heads. "Aye, Lord Snow," said Caspar Mormont, mace dangling by the side of his saddle.
"Aye, grandfather," said Jorelle Mormont, his twin sister and elder by two hours. Sheathed and tied to her waist was the ancestral sword of House Mormont - Longclaw - a gift to her from her grandmother Bethany prior to her death.
Unlike her father, unlike Caspar, she readily acknowledged him to be her grandsire and loved him. The Lord of Bear Island respected him, surely, but Caspar was harder to read. He obeyed Brandon well enough, so that was a start.
"Aight!" Brandon called out to the troop, seeing the sun begin to set behind the canopy of the forests east of the God's Eye. "We'll make camp here. Roads might be good, but I'm not riskin' bandits setting upon us."
"Doubt they will, mi'Lord," said one of his men. "Not with her." He pointed to the red direwolf that trotted beside Brandon's horse.
Brandon glared at him. "You're not using Autumn as a crutch for your laziness. Set up the fuckin' camp." Pulling his mount off the road to a grassy clearing surrounded by copses of oak and maple, the Bastard of Winterfell dismounted and was immediately beset by the powerful beast - snout nuzzling and tongue darting out to lick his face. "Alright, girl, stop," he laughed. "Enough." The wolf was probably the one living thing that earned actual affection from him.
That and Bethany, though she wasn't with them anymore. Brandon mourned her every day.
Soon, night had fallen. A half-moon hovering ahead and helping the campfires in providing enough light to get by, the sounds of the wilderness began to make themselves known. Crying birds, howling beasts… Winter joined in when it got too loud, which was usually enough to quiet everything down. Not as effective as Arrax's roars, but it got the job done.
After delegating responsibility, Brandon sat by himself close to his own tent, spooning a stew the field cook had whipped up for them. It was still steaming. "Evening, grandfather."
He looked up to see Jorelle sitting beside him on a log he was using as a seat. "Everything alright, Jorelle?" he asked.
"Aye, all's fine. Just wanted to sit with you." The girl was a pretty lass, long black hair and a willowy figure - beautiful but deceptive, muscles toned from extensive training with Longclaw. A pure killer, just like him. "Why do you always sit by yourself? Why not join with the others?"
"Leaders shouldn't fraternize with the men. Breaks discipline."
"I suppose that makes sense… though I don't agree." She thought for a moment. "But family sticks with family, so this is where I should be."
Brandon glanced at her and saw Bethany in full… only with his grey eyes. It warmed his heart. "Thank you, granddaughter."
They sat in silence, Brandon eating and Jorelle watching the wilderness. "It's surreal," she finally said. "Make it colder and this could be the North."
"Been a lot of places," Brandon shrugged. "All are the same, more or less… culture's different amongst the people, but you see the same things generally… cept Oldtown and King's Landing. Those are snake dens if I've ever seen them. I'd rather visit the dungeons of the Dreadfort."
Words seeming to take Jorelle aback, she eyed him. "If they're so dangerous, why are you taking Caspar and I there?"
Brandon contemplated the question… it wasn't an easy answer, especially since he rarely confided in anyone. Finally, he figured out something to say. "Prince Maegor, my former ward, asked for my help and I cannot deny him." He chuckled dryly. "Boy was almost like my son for the longest time… sad to say moreso than your own father." He truly did regret that. "As for you two, my brother willed the North to be more connected to the South through House Targaryen, lest we be a forgotten backwater for the rest of existence. I agree with him."
"So you want us to be southerners?"
"No, I want you to be Northmen that can beat them at their own games." He eyed her. "Think you can do that?"
Jorelle thought for a moment, then placed her hand on Longclaw's hilt. "Aye, I can."
Brandon reached out and patted her shoulder. "That's my she-bear."
Utter gratitude and devotion filled the face of the petitioner as he fell to his knees. "Your Grace… you honor me with your power and generosity. There exists no other that can compare to you."
Some men were vain, while others were modest. King Aenys Targaryen was a mix… he was disinclined to boasting, but never failed to take a guileless pleasure in the adoration or approval of those who surrounded him - regardless of who they were. "I am only glad that I could bring joy and justice to one of my subjects." He clapped his hands, gesturing to the door. "Go forth and enjoy the fruits of your labor as you serve your family and your King."
"Of course, your Grace. I shall." Even rising to his feet, the man continued to bow as he backed out of the great hall of the Dragonpalace, recently opened to the courtly task of welcoming and hearing petitioners. Rather than the modest hall of the earlier Aegonfort or the smaller reception room of Aenys' manse, the towering chamber gave a sense of awe… from the lighting through the large windows that illuminated the Iron Throne in sunlight to the black walls that gave the aura of Old Valyrian power.
Lord Torrhen, in one of his last acts as Hand of the King, had the skulls from the deceased dragons of House Targaryen's past placed upon the walls closest to the Iron Throne. Massive monsters that invoked the singular power that House Targaryen had over all others in the world. Plenty to awe the sort of simple petitioners that came before the King to address their grievances and requests.
As the throne room was cleared, Aenys looked over to his Hand. "Brother, is that all of them?"
Maegor shook his head. "No, there's one more. I'll see that the guards bring them in from the waiting area."
Aenys sighed, but nodded - a servant brought him a honeyfinger, one of his favorites, to keep his eyes from drooping. The act of hearing petitioners could be tiresome. "Would you like one, brother?" Maegor declined. "Dear daughter?"
"Actually yes, kepa. I would love one." Rhaena shared her father's sweettooth, and after a grueling training with Lord Commander Gawen she was ravenous. Taking the sticky concoction, she tried to keep her fingers from being too dirty as she ate delicately - drawing the amused stare from her uncle. "What?"
"Nothing… you just eat exactly like your kepa. Like a woman. Fits you more than him."
"I heard that," Aenys called back, frowning.
"I know." Maegor shared a smirk with Rhaena, who was giggling. "You're doing well, niece. One day I could see you handling these."
Her brow rose. "As a reigning Queen or otherwise?"
He shrugged. "Both." Succession still was unknown for Aenys… whether he'd pick the Dornish system or Andalic system. Growing in the North and learning of how the Wildlings and Mormonts did things, Maegor hoped for the former - Rhaena would be a wonderful reigning monarch. "I have full confidence in you."
His words made her heart skip a beat. "You think so?"
"Aye. You are more like your grandmothers than people give you credit for." The highest compliment Rhaena could be given, and she wished so much to be able to kiss him for it.
Page leaning in to whisper to him, Murmison seemed surprised but nodded regardless - clearing his throat. "Coming before the court of the King, her Grace, Princess Ceryse of House Targaryen."
At the announcement, Rhaena saw her uncle's eyes sparkle as he looked to the door with interest. She frowned at this, a frown that deepened as she saw her aunt by marriage enter with her ladies trailing behind. The Hightower Princess was smiling widely, radiating happiness as her eyes were trained on Maegor with adoration and barely contained excitement. It wasn't that she hated Ceryse. Quite the opposite, the woman was smart and capable - beautiful, kind, and loyal to her uncle, a welcome addition to their house.
Just that Rhaena yearned for the mirrored adoration that Maegor gave Ceryse would someday be directed at her - the one who also loved him.
But for his sake she kept quiet. "Forgive me, dear niece." Maegor leaned in and kissed her cheek… making her blush in spite of herself. "We will continue this later."
Her mood dimmed, but Rhaena forced a smile. "I look forward to it, uncle." He smiled once more to her and then dashed off to his wife, leaving her alone… and feeling the loss.
While their newfound affection and closeness were the talk of court, Maegor and Ceryse formally greeted each other with a mere squeeze of the hands and kisses on their cheeks. "Your Grace," Ceryse said, curtseying before the Iron Throne.
Aenys furrowed his brows but was otherwise welcoming. "Goodsister. This is a surprise." He chuckled. "Stealing my brother away from my side must mean this is serious news."
"Aye, it is quite serious, my King," Maegor responded, not letting go of his wife's hand. Each look, each gentle caress with his thumbs over her skin was like another prick in Rhaena's heart, but she bit her lip and said nothing. "Normally, we would've preferred for this to be made within the royal apartments, but the news touches concerns of state so an announcement at court is preferable."
Looking at his brother and Hand, then to his daughter and friend, Aenys leaned forward with interest. "I am apprehensive, but do go on."
It could've been anything, but when her uncle's palm smoothed over her aunt's belly - Rhaena kenw. Her mouth going dry just as Ceryse spoke. "By the grace of the Seven who are One, I am with child."
Almost instantaneously, the King rose from the Iron Throne and bounded down the steps, propriety gone as he threw his arms around his brother in a mighty hug. "Marvelous news! Fantastical! The height of joy and honor upon the both of you!" He kissed Ceryse's cheeks and raised his hand to the sky. "A feast, the most glorious of feasts to celebrate. It is my royal command!"
"Brother…"
"No, no modesty this time, Maegor. We will ring out this occasion properly." Nothing could stop the merry King from doing this. The Prince and Princess knew it, and consciously decided to just let it happen…
They were too happy to be annoyed regardless.
At least they were happy.
Much later, Lady Tyanna had heard what happened and immediately went to Rhaena's chamber. "Princess?" she said through the door, keeping up pretenses. Entering, she saw the poor dear sitting alone on the bed - her eyes were red but there were only few tearstains. "Rhaena…" Alone, they could be simply two friends, and Tyanna sat beside her and pulled Rhaena in a hug.
"I'm having a little cousin," she murmured. "I'm happy for my uncle, truly I am, but… but…"
"You wish it were you that bore this child for him."
Tyanna had a way of putting into words all the jumbled thoughts Rhaena had… it was one reason they were so close. "Yes… am I selfish? Am I horrible?" With how wonderful Ceryse was to her uncle these days, she felt like that more and more.
She hated that Rhaena felt this way. If there was anyone that deserved simply to be happy and loved, it was her. "No, you're not," Tyanna replied. "You're a good person with so much love in her heart. It's understandable since the one you fell for is hard to attain… I feel the same way."
Rhaena looked up at her. "You?" She thought back to that one day - luckily for their little group, Tyanna was more discrete. "Is it Elissa?"
"No, not her," Tyanna shook her head. Pondering her next move. "She's beautiful, but I love her as a friend." Absentmindedly, she pushed back a strand of hair from Rhaena's ear. The gesture was sweet… and intimate.
For Rhaena, it gave it away. "Oh." The two looked away, blushing. "I'm sorry…"
A hand on her knee. "Don't… I shouldn't have. It's not like I want these feelings."
"You shouldn't apologize for them." Whether it was her heartbreak for her uncle, or merely her curiosity, Rhaena got a thought. "Kiss me."
Tyanna raised a brow. "Are you sure?"
"Don't you want to?" Seeing indecision in Tyanna's eyes, Rhaena decided to simply be a bold dragon and do it. Their lips came in contact, and it felt good. Warm, sweet and soft… completely unlike the rough, disgusting smacks from Ser Lyonel.
The second was even better… less hesitant.
The third caused each to moan.
By the fourth, Tyanna had been pushed flat on the bed, neither girl with a worry in their minds.
"You make a tough bargain for a holy man," said the merchant in heavily accented Common Tongue - through the closed door of Barth's solar, Jeyne Poore could hear the conversation from the loud and guttural voices. "By R'hllor, you haggle better than the Iron Bank." She didn't mean to, but something told her that whatever information she could glean could come in handy one day.
Barth was calm and collected, but his voice no less resonating. "When one's treasures used to procure goods belong to the Seven who are One, waste cannot be tolerated.
With her superior, that was doubly true, though she had to be circumspect about it. She had done so back at Goldengrove, learning to be sneaky after her father caught her snooping on Lady Rowan once and beaten her backside bloody with his belt for it.
Another merchant laughed. "A sentiment shared by the Red Temple in Volantis." From earlier, his main tongue was Bastard Valyrian - Jeyne recognized it, though Barth spoke it fluently. She had trouble learning regular Valyrian though was getting better at it. "Getting them to pay is like piercing the maidenhead of a Targaryen princess."
She shuddered. Everyone knew what happened to Ser Lyonel Lorch when he tried to take the maidenhead of Rhaena Targaryen. Jeyne hated what he had done, and felt a disgust sometimes at coming up with the idea to turn Ser Lyonel into a martyr for the Warrior. He deserved his fate at Maegor Targaryen's hands. But this was for the Seven, so she put such sentimentality aside.
Her superior had taught her that. Barth tolerated no sentimentality… only the dispassionate focus to one's duty. Each time she had deviated in such a lesson early on, the supervision of the most sour septas she had seen did more than the beatings of her father to bring her into line.
Jeyne hated her father, while Barth allowed her mind to flourish. Her choice was obvious of whom to give the benefit of the doubt.
Eventually, the merchants finished within Barth's solar, being escorted out by a Warrior's Son. The testimony of how high the son of a blacksmith had risen, rating his own knightly guard. Perhaps that will be me in a decade or so when he is High Septon. The thought made Jeyne smile as she rose and headed into the solar. "All finished, your Eminence?"
Sporting cloth-of-silver vestments across his shoulders, Barth flaunted his appointment to the Most Devout wherever he went - implicitly of course. Even now he retained the impression of a humble bureaucrat and holy man. It served him well. "Ah, Jeyne my dear. Yes, yes, all is done. I have simply begun the acquisition of something that will further raise our power projection."
"May I ask what?" He eyed her. "Umm… to write the acquisition reports for the treasury." Barth always assigned that to her, and she'd gotten quite good at it. Many of her father's circle thought a woman good at figures was akin to witchcraft, so she relished being able to partake in the studies now.
Barth accepted her excuse for her curiosity. "Ah, yes…" He was still cagey. "Purchasing some beasts to use in the City Watch. Special dogs, trained to help identify criminals from mere scent - what will the Volentenes think of next," he chuckled. "Put that in the acquisition reports and have the shipments transferred to Ser Horys' command."
Ser Horys Hill? What would the Grand Captain of the Poor Fellows need with scent dogs? Jeyne was certain there was more here, but Barth didn't tolerate disobedience well - nor did Hugor, and the youngest member of the Most Devout had a direct line to the High Septon. She merely curtseyed. "I shall do as commanded."
"Good, good." Barth stood and walked to Jeyne. To her surprise, he gripped her shoulders. "You have been a precious gem to me, my dear." His smile was affectionate.
Her entire body tensed. Oh gods, no… Barth's patronage had kept her from enduring the same sorts of… attentions that other pretty young novices and septas obtained from many in the hierarchy of the Starry Sept. So many of the old septons or thuggish Warrior's Sons thought they were hunting grounds, with the meat being their… maidenheads. High Septon Hugor, though reportedly not chaste, was not one of these. And neither was Barth.
At least she thought so, but here he was likely to ravage her. Would he be brutal? Would he be gentle and try to pretend that they were lovers? In whatever case, Jeyne wanted it not and disgust and horror filled her as his lips leaned in closer and closer…
A whimper escaped her mouth when he kissed her left cheek, followed by her right. A standard greeting of highborns to signal closeness and respect but not intimacy. Immediately after she blushed a mad red, drawing his curious gaze. "Forgive me, your Eminence… I'll… I'll show myself out."
Before Jeyne could leave, Barth bidded her to halt. "Jeyne, stop." She trembled, but did as commanded, eyes pinned to the floor and hands clasped over her habit. "Did you think I wished to take my liberties with you?" When she didn't answer, he took it for an affirmation and laughed. "Oh, Jeyne. Do not worry. While I find you a comely young woman, such is not my intention for you."
At that, she felt relief. "Forgive me for my impudence, your Eminence, but it is my intention to remain the wife of the Seven above." Anything to continue with such power and respect rather than just some broodmare to a man her father needed to impress.
But Barth frowned. "Do not be so hasty, Jeyne. You shall serve the Father in all respects… regardless of what must be asked of you." He resumed his seat, scribbling his quill on a sheaf of parchment. "You have been an invaluable assistance to me in my duties, and I am remiss to do this, but the Faith requires an alternate path for you to take, one where you must use all of your assets to prosper in." He looked up, eyes as cold as a snake. "Which is why I am transferring you."
In hindsight, thinking on it, Jeyne figured that just letting him have her maidenhead was less frightening.
Gods, she was so glad to be free. Skipping along the deserted corridors of the great hall of the growing Dragonpalace, Princess Alysanne enjoyed spending time in the future home for their house. The sour old septas that kept watch over her and made sure she minded her betters, said her prayers, and remembered to avoid 'sin.' Sometimes the Princess didn't know what they were talking about, reciting trite portions of the Seven-Pointed Star that were as dry to her as a day-old meat pie.
They were always there in the manse, but at the Dragonpalace only a Kingsguard would trail after her. Ser Jon Hogg - or 'Big Jon' as she had dubbed him for his burly height and had stuck - was the sweetest bull that always snuck her or Jae sweets from the kitchens. He was always watching her, but from enough of a distance to give her the privacy to have fun. She loved him out of all the other Kingsguards, though Lord Commander Gawen Corbray and Rhaena's sworn sword Ser Dick Bean were also kind.
But they weren't Big Jon. None of them let her have her gasp at freedom from her Septas as she twirled around the grassy fields of the Dragonpalace - headed to her favorite place in the entirety of King's Landing. The godswood.
Her cousins' introduction to the old gods had only grown from curiosity into a healthy respect and spiritual fulfillment. Still so young, she didn't much understand why being among the sacred grove and growing heart tree gave her comfort but didn't question it. In spite of the Septas scolding her each time they knew she went, Alysanne did it anyway as much as she could… It was always empty, few in the capitol partaking in it with the Sept of Remembrance looking over the hill to the north.
But that day as she skipped inside, Alysanne stopped when she noticed a girl her age kneeling before the heart tree. She had just raised her head and turned, only to blink at the Princess. "I, I didn't know someone else was here," Alysanne said softly, a little shy.
It was then that the girl - as short as Alysanne, with mousy brown hair and green eyes - noticed the silver hair on her head… her eyes bugged out almost like a frog's. "Your Grace." She knelt quickly, which brought to her attention that the girl was wearing breeches. "Forgive me for not recognizing you. I beg you to hear my apology."
Alysanne fought an urge to roll her eyes - her mother taught her it was rude to do that. "No harm done," she murmured. "Come." The girl rose, shy herself. "What's your name?"
"Arya," the girl replied. "Arya Reed."
"Reed? Like Lord Torrhen's wife." The Late Lord Torrhen's wife."
The girl - Arya Reed - nodded. "Aye, she's my great-aunt." There was a slight silence, neither one of them knowing what to say now. "Did you come to pray, your Grace?" Arya asked.
Shifting her feet, Alysanne was suddenly nervous. "Don't tell anyone I was here." Only Big Jon knew she came, and she didn't want her septas to find out and scold her again for keeping 'heathen gods.'
Sensing the fear in her voice, Arya nodded. "Of course." She took Alysanne's hands in hers. "I vow to not tell anyone." Both girls knew the importance of a vow before the heart tree… if not understanding the gravity of why yet. The daughter of the Lord of Greywater Watch waited for Alysanne to say a short prayer before addressing her again. "What're you gonna do now, Princess?"
Alysanne shrugged. "I dunno."
"Want to watch me shoot arrows?" She gestured to the bow on her back. "Papa says I should learn like my older brother… maybe I'll teach you?"
Thinking on it, the Princess remembered her grandmother being a skilled warrior - Rhaena was as well. Why couldn't she learn? "Alright." Arya gave a smile and took Alysanne's hand, pulling her out of the godswood.
Standing guard, if Big Jon was surprised Alysanne had made a friend he didn't show it. "So who's this, Princess?" he asked, smiling. "Nah… let me guess… you're a Crannog?"
Arya was surprised. "How did you know?"
"Ye' look just like Lord Torrhen's wife. Good woman," Big Jon stated matter-of-factly. "Looks like you made a friend. Where're you of to?"
"Lady Arya is gonna show me how to use a bow."
"Is that a fact?" Big Jon laughed. "All the dragon ladies take after her Grace, Queen Visenya it seems." He didn't sound like he had an objection to that. "Aight, I'll take ye. Ser Rogar is teaching yer older brothers right now, so what's a few more?"
"Jae is learning?" Alysanne was unaware that Jaehaerys wished to learn archery - Ser Karstark was more interested in teaching him swordplay from what she knew.
Big Jon shook his head. "No, just Princes Aegon and Viserys. Don't think Prince Jaehaerys is on the grounds." That disappointed Ally, but she didn't take it to heart. She loved all her siblings and thus happily went with her new friend and her escort.
As her kingsguard said, the field where the archery practice was set up was home to her two eldest brothers. Viserys sat glumly to the side - clearly not being the best - while Aegon lined up a shot with his longbow and let it fly. The arrow hit just a hair's breadth to the side of dead center. Clapping his hands, a burly man with a trimmed beard clapped his hands. "Good show, your Grace." Aegon beamed at the praise. "You'll be a master at this, even from dragonback I could imagine."
"When I get a dragon, I shall practice," the Prince boasted. It was then he noticed his little sister and triumphant expression softened. "Ally!" He grabbed her in a tight hug. "Come to see your favorite brother prepare for when he takes the throne as a warrior King like his namesake?"
Tilting her head, Alysanne shook it. "No… my friend Lady Reed was gonna teach me."
"Lady Reed?" Aegon looked at her companion, dressed rather drably for someone called 'Lady.' But he recognized the name. "You, Crannog, didn't anyone tell you to mind your betters?"
Alysanne heard his insulting words and grew angry. "Don't talk to her like that, she's my friend!"
"Ally, you are a Princess, you should associate with noble ladies."
"She is a noble lady."
"She's from the swamps." Each new word made Arya grow more uncomfortable and she looked to slink away.
Before Alysanne could smack her brother, Ser Rogar stepped in. "Now, now. Let us not spat - you're royals and thus above it all." Alysanne huffed, while Aegon chuckled at her expression. "The question should be if Lady Reed is a good enough teacher for the Princess." His attitude was a little patronizing, but not overtly insulting. "Show us your skills, Lady Reed."
Biting her lip, Arya drew the bow from her shoulder. It was of different make than the longbows used by the others - composite, and much smaller. Nocking and arrow, she drew it back and let it fly… it hit one ring outside of dead center.
"Impressive," stated Ser Rogar. "The frog is certainly dead, young Lady Reed." Alysanne looked at him, eyes narrowing - she sensed something off in his tone. "Hope you can handle yourself outside the swamp, though."
Alright, she may have been young but did recognize that as an insult. Jae is right… I don't like him. "Allow me, Arya." Alysanne was handed the bow and tried to copy Arya… she failed miserably, the arrow loosing but impacting the ground.
"Good try, Princess… but I'm sorry." Rogar shook his head. "This doesn't seem your strong suit." His apologetic tone only made Ally angrier.
"Speak for yourself, Ser Rogar." Hearing the authoritative voice, Alysanne turned to see her grandmother walking across the grass. Even with whitening hair and more wrinkles, she looked just as fierce as her heyday. "I presume you weren't an expert when you first picked up a blade… or warhammer."
Rogar bowed. "Your Grace, I am honored by your presence."
She nodded, but didn't smile. "Thank you for instructing my grandsons in archery, but for Alysanne's lessons I shall be seeking a different tutor. Good day." She took Alysanne's hand. "Come, granddaughter - you too, Lady Arya." As they were guided away, her look softened. "Don't worry, hatchling. If you wish to learn, I'll find you a better teacher. Do you?"
Thinking of her, thinking of her sister, Alysanne nodded vigorously. "I want to learn, grandmother." The Dowager Queen beamed at her eagerness.
"Open the gates!" Both guards stationed in the front of the gatehouse rested their spears against the walls and grabbed at the handles of the Ironwood gate. Winterfell was at peace, so it wasn't bolted and the portcullis was drawn up rather than lowered. They threw it open just as the procession of four horses galloped inside - trailed by a white wolf-sized dog with his tongue hanging out.
Only it wasn't a dog. The bannermen and men-at-arms for House Stark knew the representation of the sigil they fought under quite well. Young Lord Alaric and his direwolf had returned from their hunt in the Wolfswood. Judging from the several rabbits dangling from the lad's horse and the antlers of a Hornwood Elk strung across the biggest horse's rump, it was a successful one.
Easing back on the reins, clicking his tongue, Alaric brought the steed to a halt. "Shhh… that's it girl," he whispered to the mare - two years old and a gift for his nameday two years previous when she was just a foal. The horse whined, but calmed from the exhilaration of the fast gallop, Alaric stroking her neck. "Good girl." With the finesse of an expert, he took his foot out of the left stirrup, swung around the saddle, and dropped down onto the ground with a solid plop. "Still got it," he grinned. It was no secret that he was the best rider of the Stark brood, 'Born atop a steed' as his muna oft said. Servants came to get the mare to the stables while he removed his saddlebag filled with the five rabbits his snares had caught.
A whine and poke came at his hip. Alaric looked down and saw his direwolf sitting on his haunches, tilting his head and looking up with red eyes.
"Come on, Frost, don't give me that look." Pathetic, Frost swiped his tongue across his nose. "Ugh, fine." Reaching into one of the pouches, Alaric tossed a strip of jerky into the air. Tail wagging, the direwolf changed moods on a dime as he leapt in the air, devouring the jerky with the direwolf version of a cheeky grin. "You're lucky I love you," Alaric commented, ruffling the snow-white fur. His tail wagged without a care in the world.
It was a common jape in Winterfell and Wintertown that the direwolves lived easier lives than their Stark masters. It was funny because it was true.
A shriek nearly made Alaric stumble from just how sudden it was, Frost barking at the sky at his master's distress. The source of the fright flapped about in circles, chirping the entire time. "Vermax, no," came the call of his elder brother Aegon, racing over. "No diving at Alaric." The silver-haired 'Winter dragon' as he was called smiled apologetically. "Sorry, valonqar. He's just a bad boy, isn't he?" The grey dragon - tiny at the moment but poised to grow rapidly - landed on his bonded rider's shoulder and chirped again, causing Aegon to chuckle and stroke her head. Vermax cooed.
Nestled in her arms, Saera's cobalt-blue dragon hatchling Tessarion was the opposite of Vermax. She was a gentle delight… well, as far as a dragon could be. She rarely made a sound unless provoked extensively, and her manners were impeccable. 'Blue Queen,' they called her for her regal demeanor. "Did you bring rabbits, Al?" Saera asked, flicking a brush of silver hair off her shoulder. At the mention of rabbit, both Vermax and Tessarion looked at Alaric expectantly.
The middle Stark giggled at that. While their grandfather's demise had brought the entire keep to a sense of solemn grief - especially when their muna and kepa returned with grandmother Jocelyn in a state of depression - the dragons were the lifeline to joy among those in Winterfell and Wintertown. All were in awe of Arrax, but the tiny hatchlings gave them another side to the dragons. Northern dragons, born of the First Men and raised in the snow and ice. It brought pride as well as happiness.
Reaching for his saddlebag, Alaric pulled out a freshly-killed rabbit. He had slit its throat himself after finding it caught in his snare. "Will this do?"
Chirping and squirming, the dragons were nonetheless trained well, waiting patiently for their riders to say… "Dracarys." Both let out a tiny stream of dragonfire, not enough to cause damage to Alaric but enough to cook the rabbit into a perfect blackened roast. He dropped it to the ground, both dragons screeching happily and diving. Digging in snout first.
Enjoying the sight, Alaric then noticed all eyes on him… well, not on him. On the dragons, and by extension Aegon and Saera. The first ever Stark dragonriders, heroes across the entire North… and here he was, dragonless. Slowly, hiding his own shame and jealousy, Alaric slipped away as the crowd began to gather round his siblings.
Alone in his chambers, Frost curled up right in front the hearth, Alaric laid flat on his bed. Nestled in his arms was the copper-colored egg that his muna had placed in his crib from the moment of his birth. He ran his hand along the scales, sighing deeply. "Why, my sweet one? Why didn't you hatch?"
The egg was silent. Both Aegon and Saera had told him that Vermax and Tessarion spoke to them while still within their egg, but while the red scales were warm to his touch - his kepa felt them as cold stone, while his muna and his siblings could feel the same heat that Alaric felt when he touched it - there was no words spoken to him. No irresistible draw to the egg as Aegon and Saera felt towards theres before they hatched.
"Am I not a real dragon? Am I a wyrm?" Looking over at Frost, the direwolf felt as an extension of him. A bond he couldn't begin to describe to anyone but his fellow Starks… not even his muna. Is that what it's like to bond with a dragon?
His gaze fell back on his egg. Seemed he'd never know.
The sound of the door opening and tiny feet pattering on the floor drew his eyes. "Hi, Ric'." Alaric's mood began to rise at the sight of Ryah Bolton, dressed in a pale pink dress and with her hair flowing free. "Eggsy told me you were alone. I bring treats." She held up a little sack, revealing a few meat buns inside. "They're still warm."
Smiling, Alaric sat up. "Thanks, Ryah." His stomach growled, an uncoerced confession as to how hungry he apparently was. "Sausage? Chopped beef?"
"Chopped I think." Ryah jumped on the bed and shimmied till she sat next to him. The sound woke Frost from his sleep, and the direwolf scrambled to join them, plopping down behind Alaric and Ryah with his tail wagging. "Here you go." She handed him a bun before she dove onto Frost with her tickling fingers, causing the beast to flip onto his belly and submit before the scratches.
Alaric chuckled - his dumb boy always loved Ryah's touches more than his. "How're you gonna be a big war wolf like in the songs," he japed, biting into the bun. He moaned. "Aye, chopped beef. Cookie outdid himself again."
"Why he called Cookie? It's… obvious." His muna had used that word to scold their father about a week before and now all the children were using it. It was their own little inside jape.
He shrugged, chewing. "Kepa and muna call him that. Everyone does."
Ryah repeated his shrug, causing the both of them to giggle. It was nice… Alaric always got along with his parents' ward - even if she was a Bolton. "Is that your egg?" she asked him, eyes sparkling in excitement. "You finally took it out of the chest."
Stiffening, Alaric knew he was caught. "Aye, my egg." The Stark brood had learned modesty and stoicism at a young age from their kepa and uncle Brandon. 'Only the solemn and humble can live against the winds of winter, my boy.' As such, they didn't flaunt their eggs as their cousins in King's Landing oft did. Since Vermax and Tessarion hatched, Alaric didn't even show his egg to anyone but himself… but Ryah had a way of making him drop his guard.
"I can't wait till it hatches," Ryah squealed. "Then we can play with Vermax and Tessarion!"
"Don't know if it'll hatch," Alaric confessed with a frown. "Maybe I'm no dragon."
He suddenly found Ryah's arms encircling him. "You's my dragon, Al," she murmured, kissing his cheek sweetly… making him blush in spite of himself.
From the warmth her statement gave him, perhaps that was enough for Alaric Stark.
A/N: Tyanna certainly is happy, and perhaps this is for the best given where both her and Rhaena will end up ;)
Alysanne makes a friend, someone wild and fierce that can teach her such behavior.
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