Maris V

The weeks since Aegon Baratheon's birth had been marred by tragedy. Dark wings had brought darker words. The first words that Maris and her sisters had received regarding their mother had been that she remained confined to her chambers, beset by a post-birthing sickness. Not a week had passed before the maester of Storm's End had advised their father to allow them to make the journey home, that they might be by her side in her waning moments. They had still been in the midst of packing their belongings for travel when they had received word that their mother was dead.

Floris and Ellyn had been devastated, of course. Cassandra herself had wept bitter tears. Maris had mourned her mother in her own way, she supposed, but her pain had not been nearly as acute as that of the others. In the still of the night, she could still hear Floris' tears. Mother and I were never… particularly close. I was not the heir, as Cassandra was, requiring the training necessary to prepare me to rule Storm's End in the future. I was not 'made to be a mother', as Ellyn was. And whilst she never stated it openly, I was never pretty, like Floris. I was the 'witty' one, the bane of Septas and handmaidens alike.

To her credit, Elenda Caron had encouraged Maris' pursuit of knowledge, silently accepting that her second eldest daughter desired to become as learned as a lord. She likely supposed that the right lord would see my education as an asset. And she was right. Lord Bryndemere appreciates me for who I am. But despite her respecting Maris' intellect, the Lady of Storm's End and her second daughter had simply never been overly close. And while warmth had been lacking in their relationship for years, matters had come to a head when the Prince Aemond Targaryen had come to call on their father, asking for his support against his eldest sister.

For years, Maris had told herself that while Cassandra was the heir to Storm's End, and Ellyn would make the best mother, and that Floris would attract the most proposals, she would find a Lord both witty and studious, and that a romance of sorts could bloom over discussions of topics as diverse as political treatises of the ancient Durrandons or Valyrian erotic poetry. She had sworn to herself that that would be enough; that she would find solace in never being named the Queen of Love and Beauty at any Lord's tourney. But that day, as her father offered Aemond all of them upon a silver platter, saying that he ought to be betrothed to whichever daughter pleased him the most, Maris had realized that she wanted desperately for something more.

It was not that she fancied the Prince; she had found him… unsettling… to say the least, it was that she realized a marriage between them would catapult her to the dizzying heights of power within King's Landing that she had always read about… and always craved. So as the Prince had stood before them, his deep purple eye gazing at each of her sisters intently, Maris had spoken, feeling his interest in her passing as quickly as all of the other previous suitors had. She had quoted a humorous passage of the Xeleraxys, an epic poem penned by a dragonlord of Valyria that detailed the adventurous exploits of Naela, a slave girl who through her wiles alone had seduced a scion of one of the great houses, becoming his beloved and eventually being named first amongst his wives. The passage, narrated supposedly by Naela, described the ingredients she had mixed in order to produce the concoction that she used to render her master insensate so that she could escape into the night.

At first, Maris' Valyrian had drawn the Prince's eye, returning her to his piercing gaze. But whilst she had gained his attention, she also provoked his ire. Prince Aemond had sneered, and returned her quoted passage with a response of his own in High Valyrian. Whilst the stag may bellow out a greeting in the language of dragons, its lowing only serves to insult the tongue of its betters. In the next moments, he had chosen Floris. Maris frowned. My next words were… not so tasteful. She had spent the following months at Storm's End wildly vacillating between guilt and paranoia, always fighting back at her mother's attempts to consign her to the Faith. Mother had been of the opinion that I was responsible for the death of Prince Lucerys and all the bloodshed that followed. And I would be deluding myself if I hadn't agonized over the possibility. For once, her father's dismissive attitude towards his daughters had been beneficial for Maris… sending her to the Silent Sisters would be as good as an admission of guilt, and Borros could not bear the thought that other lords would see him as unable to bring his daughters to heel. So instead she had waited, fearful that the red hues of Caraxes or Meleys would be spotted over Storm's End, that the Pretender's allies might lay waste to her home and family over a few words she deeply regretted. But they never came. Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenys were slain by the very man I slighted, though the former managed to take Aemond's life as well.

I never even said goodbye to my mother. When the time had come for them to depart for King's Landing, her mother had argued bitterly with her father over whether Maris should be allowed to accompany her sisters. She claimed that my presence would be a 'bitter provocation' to Blacks and Greens alike. Her father had, of course, dismissed those concerns with a wave of a calloused hand. It was the last time Maris had seen her. She wasn't entirely certain what she felt now that she was dead. Sadness, perhaps? Regret… and relief. So many conflicting emotions tied together so powerfully that they'll never be unwoven. Her mother's insistence on Maris' guilt was now a final condemnation, never to be discussed at greater length, or to allow for their relationship to mend in any meaningful way. Did I want war? Maris was sure she had not. But her spite had been powerful. Was I truly so stupid as to not see the potential my words held? She feared what she might do if similarly provoked again, with similar stakes afoot. I've… changed. I am sure of it.

After almost a moon had passed since their mother's death, their father summoned them to the manse's solar. While Borros Baratheon may have been wearing the blacks of mourning, there was little about his visage that suggested he carried the loss deeply in his heart. So long as little Aegon lives, my father's grief will never truly begin. Maris found herself wondering if he intended to announce his desire to remarry, to further propagate his line.

Once all four of his daughters stood before him, he finally spoke. "My precious girls. I can only imagine that these past few weeks have been… most trying for you. Your mother's passing has weighed on us all heavily…" casting a furtive glance at Maris, he continued: "but I believe I have news that may be of great joy to you all."

Maris glanced at her sisters. Ellyn and Floris remained downcast, and at the mention of their mother Floris seemed perilously close to tears. Joyous news? Mayhaps I was correct… does father intend to give us a new mother after all? I fear that the reception may not be as welcoming as he hopes.

"I have received an offer for Cassandra's hand in marriage."

For a few moments, all that could be heard within the chamber was the crackling of the fire. Cassandra, who always prided herself on her ability to mitigate her outward reactions, looked struck.

"Father… I am not quite sure what to say… surely an offer so soon after mother's passing would be looked upon in poor taste… and bode ill for the fruitfulness of the marriage."

Borros took Cassandra's hands into his own. "My sweet… such thoughts have no place here." With a twinkle in his eye, he added: "besides… this is not the sort of offer one receives regularly. I would not have brought this to your attention if it had come from one of my vassals."

Maris watched as her sister's mind calculated the possibilities. Could Elmo Tully have asked on behalf of his son Kermit? Or could Lord Cregan have called from the frigid North? She quickly dismissed those options as out of hand. Their passions and loyalties still lie with the Pretender and her sons.

Borros Baratheon finally broke the contemplative silence. "Lord Corlys Velaryon has asked for your hand, on behalf of his legitimized grandson Ser Addam Velaryon. He has informed me that they will be calling upon us today in order to receive our consent." He studied his eldest daughter closely. "I have already assured him of it, of course. But I thought it wise to consult with you, my daughter, so that your acceptance would be a matter of course."

For a long moment, Cassandra stood still. Maris watched the muscles of her face dance ever so slightly as a war played out in her mind. After a few moments, her sister's face settled into a placidity that was almost unnerving.

"I thank you for consulting me, father. I absolutely consent to this match. It will be an honor to marry a great house of the realm, and a dragonrider at that."

Borros let her hands fall, clapping with excitement. "I agree most wholeheartedly, daughter! This may be the change in the winds we have long awaited. The old Seasnake has the realm firmly in his grasp, and with Stormlander swords to back him, none will dare to challenge him."

Nodding, Cassandra turned on her heel and left the chamber, pausing only to curtsey out of respect to their sire. Maris paid her respects before following quickly. She caught her eldest sister in an alcove.

Casting a glance about to confirm their solitude, Maris raised an eyebrow. "I would have imagined you far more enthused about this match, sister."

Cassandra frowned. "It is not the match itself. It is the perception of it. By agreeing so quickly, our father only emphasizes our desperation. It is in poor taste to speak of marriage so soon after our mother's passing! I miss her, as we all do, and forgoing a proper period of mourning makes us seem overeager to secure a place within the court." Cassandra's frown deepened. "Besides, father is more the fool than I thought if he believes the Velaryons can truly secure our rise at court. The King despises us, and views us as complicit in the deaths of two of his brothers. Our time with the Queen is only tolerated because she is too weak-minded and fearful to make new friends." Crossing her arms, Cassandra sighed. "And moreso, what of my honor? Addam Velaryon is a servant of traitors, bastard born, and I am only Lord Corlys' second choice. The Lady Baela spurned him with the support of the Regency, and now he seeks to save face, having dismissed her back to that sulfurous rock the Targaryens call a home."

Maris laughed. "You did not think to mention any of this to father?"

Her sister chuckled derisively. "Father would have dismissed each concern as easily as he dismissed mother's death. If I had raised too much of a fuss, he'd likely have forced poor Floris into the match… besides, I am no longer his heir. Our dearest brother has deprived me of my ability to negotiate from a position of strength."

Maris grabbed her sister's arm. "Mayhaps that is so. But you are like to benefit far more from this than you grant yourself! The King's majority is years away, and he no longer has a dragon. He will never be able to discount Ser Addam, certainly not after he has become Lord of the Tides! As of yet, the Royal House only personally possess three dragons, two of which are hatchlings. Whoever controls the Royal Constables controls the realm."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Possibly so." She paused. "I did not expect you to be in favor of this match."

Maris was surprised. "What benefits you benefits our House. We simply cannot afford to be riven by petty disputes at this point. If we do not accept Lord Corlys' offer, someone else will. The Lannisters have daughters of their own. While the Stormlands are placed the most strategically to assist with the Velaryon's ambitions, others could suffice. I fear that this may be our last opportunity for true relevance for some time."

Cassandra sighed. "It appears that I have much to think on."

Maris watched as her sister departed for her chambers. Argella Durrandon laughs at us all from death. Other lords sire bastards, and it is our fate to marry them.

Their father chose to host Lord Corlys and his attendants within the manse's feasting hall, and the tables were piled high with exotic fruits and pastries. Her sire had chosen a ripe pomegranate to eat, and despite his best efforts, its juices had stained his teeth, giving him a rather grisly appearance as he ate. Cassandra herself sat to their father's right, prim and proper, her posture perfect to a fault. She is nervous. She grows as stiff as a board when an hour of trial is upon her. Maris herself had paced the gallery above the manse's courtyard prior to the meeting, watching with great interest as the Seasnake had arrived just after evenfall in a single carriage. Ornate, but not overly grand. He does not wish for his goings to be of note. She had hurried to join her father and her sisters in the great hall shortly thereafter, eating sections of a Dornish orange to distract herself whilst they waited for the Hand to be guided to their reception.

The Seasnake carried himself with a grandeur that was unmistakable; he moved easily and confidently despite his advanced age, as confident in the halls of a great lord as he would have been upon the deck of a ship at sea. His tanned and weather beaten skin had faded in the winter months, but his eyes remained sharp, and sparkled with what might have been amusement. Corlys Velaryon wore the sea greens of his house, and a silver seahorse had been embroidered upon his doublet. He had allowed himself the use of a cane, a beautifully polished ashen stave that bore no resemblance to any wood that Maris was familiar with. A golden snake had been crafted to wrap itself about the carven wood, its head serving as the hand grip whilst its emerald eyes sparkled in the firelight.

An attendant of her father's rapped his staff upon the floor of the hall, breaking the silence. "Lord Corlys Velaryon. Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark. Hand of the King to his Grace, Aegon, the Third of His Name."

For a moment, the two men watched one another silently. Whilst others might've squirmed in the gaze of the Lord of Storm's End, the Lord of the Tides smiled placidly, his face molding to adapt a visage akin to that of a wizened grandfather. He may play the role of a friendly dotard, but we stand in the presence of the most formidable and powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms. The silence drew on for what felt like minutes, but was finally broken by her father's voice.

"Be welcome, Lord Corlys. I apologize for the modesty of my surroundings, but my knights assured me these were the finest lodgings that remained outside of the Red Keep, what with the destruction of Lord Celtigar's former lodgings. I do hope that you will forgive my lack of ceremony."

Lord Corlys chuckled. "These accommodations will do nicely. I have grown used to far meaner accommodations, and have developed a certain sentimentality for the abodes of merchants and the like. They remind me of Spicetown and Hull, and are a welcome sight after the conclusion of my confinement. In the past few months I grew far too acquainted with the dungeons of the Red Keep." His eyes sparkled. "I do regret that I was unable to play host to you during that time. I would have enjoyed giving you a thorough tour of my leaking chamberpot and fetid rushes."

Her father's face reddened. "My Lord Hand, do forgive me for my complicity in your imprisonment. I was ever an advocate of easing your confinement; but the King was always far too sympathetic to the words of his mother, the Dowager Queen. In their final months of rule she had become maddened with spite and a desire for revenge. Women are ever susceptible to unbalanced humors, and Alicent lacked the stern guidance of her lord father or husband to rein her in."

The slightest of smiles passed across Lord Corlys' features, but his eyes remained impassive, foreboding like the winter waters of Shipbreaker Bay. "In that case, I thank you for your advocacy nonetheless. I had always considered you to be a most reasonable man, Lord Borros. It is for that reason that I stand here before you today. I have come to propose a marital alliance between our families. It would be my honor for my grandson and heir Ser Addam Velaryon to marry Lady Cassandra Baratheon, your eldest daughter." Lord Corlys' gaze drifted to rest upon Cassandra herself. "Baratheon blood flowed within the veins of my Lady wife, and it still flows within our descendants. Our Houses have always been the strong arms of House Targaryen, the first and oldest of their supporters. It is only right that we mend the breach that this recent war has cleaved between our families."

Maris' sire practically glowed with enthusiasm. "I daresay you are correct, my Lord! I have long endeavored to be a loyal servant of the realm. The King's animosity wounds me most deeply, and I long to show him proof of my fidelity! To be approached by his Hand and leal man is a great honor, and I am certain that my dearest Cassandra would brook no complaints at such an honorable husband!"

The Seasnake nodded gravely. "The King remains wroth with you, Lord Borros. But I promise you that after we bind our houses once more in matrimony I will advise him against heaping his anger upon your family any longer." He rapped his cane upon the stone floor. "I know that a lord as well-read as yourself would be thoroughly acquainted with the histories of our realm, so I shall spare you an old man's lecture. But I must say that a marriage such as the one we shall embark upon will be a most auspicious event. Just as the Golden Wedding heralded an end to the nightmares of Maegor's reign, a union between Ser Addam and Lady Cassandra shall signal an end to what the singers call the Dance of Dragons. We lords shall bind the realm's wounds and put aside our rivalries in service to the greater good. I shall be most pleased to welcome your daughter into my house."

Her father stood, crossing the distance between himself and Lord Velaryon and clasping his hand fervently. "I shall be honored to call Ser Addam my goodson. My Cassie will bear him many strong sons, I am certain of it. Perhaps they shall even master dragons, as your Laenor and Laena once did." At that, Borros Baratheon's eyes truly glowed.

"There is but one matter that still must be addressed, Lord Borros. Ser Addam has long admired Lady Cassandra from afar, and is most eager to drape a marriage cloak about her shoulders. He has asked that I propose their wedding be held in a moon's time, just long enough to assemble the materials necessary for a proper celebration. He fears he cannot dally any longer than that, for fear that his passions become too painful to ignore."

Borros chuckled. "Ah, to be young again. Far be it from me to deny my future goodson his happiness. Let it be done. I will inform my Lords immediately and begin the preparations."

Lord Corlys nodded, pleased. "You need not worry about the preparations, Lord Borros. Forgive me, but I already gave the order for the preparations to begin. Even now the Dragonpit is being furnished for a glorious ceremony. I will not allow this wedding to be one that the realm soon forgets."

Maris sneered internally. Eager to put your granddaughter's willfulness behind you, Lord Corlys? She stole a glance at her elder sister. Cassandra's expression was unreadable, but her bright blue eyes sparkled dangerously. Ser Addam knows not what he has agreed to.

Lord Corlys had begun making his way towards his knights that had escorted him from the carriage. Maris called after him, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Lord Corlys, if I may, what material is your cane crafted from? I have never seen any wood quite like it."

The Lord of the Tides eyed her curiously. "There is no wood quite like it, my dear, for it is not crafted of wood. It was crafted from the bones of Meleys, my Lady wife's beautiful mount. Whilst its skull sits within the Red Keep, I wished to keep a bit of it close in the lateness of my years. I grow… sentimental in my old age."

With that, the Lord of the Tides turned and exited the chamber. The doors shut behind him with a cold finality.

A moon passed and went, and with it came the myriad preparations necessary for a wedding of epic proportion. It is well that Lord Corlys had prepared beforehand, elsewise we'd never have been able to prepare properly. Maris smiled to herself as she watched the many weavers at work placing the finishing touches on the Baratheon banners. Crafted of silk and cloth of gold, the black stag reared proudly upon each. Humorously, Lord Corlys himself had generously provided an army's worth of bolts of black silk. Maris often found herself wondering what had become of the red silks that were originally supposed to accompany it. Perhaps he found a buyer in the Lannisters, or the Blackwoods. Maris hiked her skirts, hurrying along the halls of the manse to the chamber in which Cassandra was being dressed.

She found her sister being dressed in her chambers, clad in a rich velvet dress to ward off the chill. Cassandra had opted for a white dress; its arms were woven with dancing stags that traveled up her sleeves to the neckline. Her long black hair had been painstakingly braided and perfumed, with a hairnet spotting pearls retrieved from off of the shores of Tarth. The shores of Tarth that faced westwards were shielded from the worst of the storms that violently leapt from the interior of Shipbreaker Bay, and had long been a favorite pearl diving haunt. The hairnet itself had been a gift from Lord Bryndemere. Clutched in her sister's hands were a bouquet of violet pansies, which had grown in rich Stormlands soil, despite the cold winter rains that had lashed them.

Maris smiled, taking her sister's free hand within her own. "What a day to married! The wind is biting, but the skies are ever so blue!"

Cassandra smiled faintly, turning only slightly so as to not disrupt the work of her attendants. "So I have been informed. I fret, however, at your disturbing transformation into an excited bridesmaid. Where is the biting wit or acerbic cynicism, dear sister?"

Maris shrugged. "My heart holds only the fondest hopes for my sister during these momentous times."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "I suppose I could be marrying far worse. Lord Rowan has supposedly been paying visits to any lord with a daughter of eligible age. At least Ser Addam is of an age with me, and seems a kind sort, despite his common birth."

Maris sighed for emphasis. "He rides a dragon, Cassandra, and bears the beauty of the Valyrians of old. I always thought you fancied intriguing foreigners!"

"I do. They were ever so fascinating, far more so than father's stuffy bannermen and their pimply sons."

"Addam will make a dutiful husband, I am certain of it. And your own children may one day ride dragons. Perhaps one day you will have sons and daughters as brave and bold as the late Princess Rhaenys."

"Enough, already!" Huffed Cassandra. "Is there any word from the Royal Court?"

"Apart from granting us leave to utilize the Crown's sept atop the Hill of Visenya, nothing. The King has seemingly done nothing to impede the wedding and festivities, but makes no move to partake in them. From what I and Lord Bryndemere have been able to gather, Lord Corlys severely disappointed him with this decision. The King had favored a match with Celia Tully."

"What of the half-sister? The Lady Baela was Corlys' truest desire."

"It seems King Aegon had no involvement whatsoever with the process of her courtship or dismissal. Perhaps he thought to let her have her choice of husband."

Cassandra nodded. "I plan to ask my husband to allow us to retire to Driftmark after the festivities. At least with this marriage I have bought my freedom from the Queen's chambers. I was not certain if I could bear any more of that madness."

Maris stifled a laugh. "Come now. When she asked you to play with her dolls, I thought you'd shed a tear."

"I shed many tears. But they were borne of boredom, not relief."

Maris laughed. "I will miss your silent agony within the Queen's chambers. It accompanied mine own so well." Stepping back, she bowed low. "I will await you at the sept, sister."

The sept atop Visenya's Hill was a grand construct, larger than most castle septs. Each of its seven walls boasted beautiful stained glass depictions of the aspects of the divines, allowing for sunlight to stream downwards to illuminate their marble statues below. According to her own recollections, the sept had not seen a wedding of similar grandeur since the wedding of King Aegon II to his wife Helaena. A happy day, according to most, though the memories of it are marred by Helaena's later madness and kinslaying. Maris eyed the statue of the Mother, wondering if there was any power within the stone. If there was, why did the divines not act? Queen Helaena was a sweet woman. How could the eyes of the gods have been turned aside from the crimes against her children? Queen Jaehaera lived, but Maris and her sisters could attest to the fact that it was not much of an existence. The girl suffered from night terrors, and was left all but forgotten in her chambers, attended by only a few servants, ladies-in-waiting, and Ser Willis Fell, who categorically refused to leave her side. It was said that most nights he slept in adjoining quarters to the Queen's, forsaking his traditional chambers in the White Sword Tower. His devotion is impressive. According to Lord Bryndemere, Ser Elmo Tully had once broached the matter of the Queen's mental frailty to the Small Council, arguing that it might be more merciful to dissolve the unconsummated marriage whilst the King and Queen were still children, that she might be given over to the Faith for a life of quiet chastity and peace. Ser Willis had supposedly grown so wroth he looked fit to burst. The matter had been tabled, but rumors still swirled that much of the Regency felt the Queen was unsuitable.

Her betrothed sat next to her, regal in appearance, watching lords and ladies take their seats with a bemused placidity. He always adopts that look when he doesn't wish for others to know he's thinking. Maris leaned close, and whispered in his ear: "what schemes are afoot today, my lord?"

Her betrothed feigned a look of wounded pride. "My lady, on such a blessed day it would be unbecoming of a man of my standing to be conniving about one thing or another."

Maris gave him a pleading look. "Ser, I grow weary of this waiting. Please have mercy upon this maiden and grant me something to distract my mind."

The corners of Bryndemere's mouth twitched, his well groomed brown beard hiding the majority of his grin. "I am currently calculating how many protests my gold cloaks will need to quell in the city below. With the people's hunger a lavish wedding is like to anger them greatly."

Maris nodded. "I had thought that Lord Corlys arranged for the excess food to be distributed amongst the city's poorest."

"He did. But the gold cloaks that will be distributing it have been on tight rations for three moons. I suspect much will be pocketed long before it reaches the hands of the destitute."

"When will the next shipment of grain arrive from Gulltown?"

"It was due to have left two weeks ago. The Regency received a letter three days ago stating that it still had not been released, due to conflicts with the Vale itself. Ser Joffrey Arryn has assembled a host to block the roads from the inner Vale towards Runestone and Gulltown, which prevented many of the wains laden with grains from arriving. The baker's guild and merchant's guild have already come to blows over prices."

Maris shook her head. "What of the Reach or Riverlands?"

Bryndemere eyed her gravely. "The Hightowers stripped many keeps bare of their harvests in the Reach. All of the final harvests are needed to replenish the vaults of the Reach lords themselves… as for the Riverlands, Prince Aemond was quite thorough in his destruction of their stores."

Maris grimaced. She was about to ask of foreign options for import when horns blared, announcing the entry of the bride. Cassandra Baratheon entered the sept looking every bit a daughter of Storm's End, her head held high and blue eyes blazing. Awaiting her at the head of the sept was her father, looking pleased beyond belief, dressed in rich blacks and golds. Between Lord Borros and Ser Addam stood Septon Eustace, who had been convinced to officiate the ceremony. When Cassandra met her soon-to-be-husband at the center of the chamber, the hall grew so quiet that Maris could hear her own heartbeat. After a few minutes of words and ceremony, Ser Addam removed Cassandra's Maiden's Cloak and placed the arms of House Velaryon on her shoulders. It is done. As the bride and groom both exited the chamber smiling shyly, horns blared and maidens cast celebratory streamers in the air. Maris watched those that followed with interest. Ser Alyn, the loving brother, laughing and telling japes. Lord Borros, strutting like a peacock. Lord Corlys, an enigmatic smile upon his lips.

"Where is Ser Malentine?" She cried, so as to be heard by her betrothed over the noise.

"He sent his apologies to Lord Corlys a few days ago. He has fallen ill during his tour of Harrenhal and the Riverlands."

Maris raised an eyebrow, but let the matter drop. She was certain that it meant little.