Meeting of the Minds
. . .
The wedding was fast approaching, and it seemed for the families gathered, it was meaning more about trying to find ways to subvert Hoare rule than to celebrate it. Almost none had met personally with the groom, nor had they met with his father, the King of Isles and Rivers. Truth be told, out of all the assembled royal families, many suspected it had been just Erich Durrandon who had met with him.
Queen Yovanna Durrandon had arranged a meeting with her husband's consent – it had all gone swimmingly thus far, and they couldn't believe their luck. King Garth Gardener had agreed to meet with the Durrandons that morning, in one of the towers that poked up into the sky from Harrenhal castle. No Queen in the Seven Kingdoms was stupid, by luck or by plan, it seemed to be true. Yovanna had dealt with Queen Melessa Gardener almost too many times by that point and wasn't looking forward to another meeting.
"Are you sure marrying Rogar to the Lannister girl wouldn't be wiser?" Yovanna sipped at her wine, sitting beside her husband as they waited upon the Gardeners.
"The Lannisters are a kingdom away," Her husband dismissed, not unpleasantly. His arms were crossed over his chest – the kids were just a room away depending on what the Gardeners offered. "We've enriched ourselves with trade from the East, and the Reach will supplement food."
The Queen gave a little noise of indecision, her legs crossed at the ankles neatly. She was a small woman, but an impressive one nonetheless. Her black hair mirrored that of her husband's, but hers was long and glossy, brushing the top of the yellow dress she adorned – golden jewels sewn into the collar.
"They won't be a kingdom away if we take back the Riverlands," Yovanna replied, yawning and covering her mouth.
Her husband opened his mouth to give a reply but fell silent when a guard knocked at the little oak door that opened into the top of the tower. "The Gardeners are below." He reported, the Durrandon stag proud upon his broad chest.
"Send them up," King Erich said, a touch of frustration in his voice that they had waited even that long to make the decision. It wasn't as though they were going to come up and murder them – the only people he wouldn't put that past would be the ironborn themselves, and he was always careful to meet the ironborn out in the open where others could see them. The Hoares didn't like any of their guests, which was ironic considering it was a wedding, but the enmity between Hoares and Durrandons was legendary. The ironborn viewed it as nearly a religious conflict, as the enemy of their Drowned God was the Storm God. It went without saying that the Durrandons were the nearest to that appearance.
They could hear footsteps for a few moments, and both the King and Queen rose as a few yellow-adorned Durrandon guards filed into the room, followed by two green Gardener ones. Finally, the Gardener family themselves. Yovanna couldn't help but hmm at seeing who had come. King Garth Gardener had arrived himself, his son Dantis in tow, as well as his daughter…Kathryn, if memory served.
"King Garth," Erich said stiffly, a hand on his wife's back. The Queen was irritated – touching was something she was rather unfond of – not that she was unfond of her husband, just the sort of small intimacies that came with being a Queen in public.
"King Erich," Garth grinned at him, walking forward. "I presume you remember my son, Prince Dantis, and future King of the Reach, as well as my daughter, the lovely Kathryn Gardener."
"I do," Erich said simply, letting go of his wife and clasping both his hands behind his back.
Queen Durrandon was still in a bit of light shock – no Melessa Gardener. The Queen hadn't come to the discussion, so was there really anything to be solved? A smile pressed upon her lips, her mind doing somersaults as she pondered the problem. A problem? Or a solution?
"Come sit, I'm sure it's been a trying few days," Yovanna said, pointing to a set of three chairs that the guards had hastily arranged across from them.
"Where are your lovely children?" Garth asked warmly, taking a seat in his own chair, his two children on either side. The son looked at them with a kind enough expression – he takes after his father, Yovanna thought. Kind, but blank, really. His daughter was on his other side. Intelligence flickered in those eyes, and Yovanna was back on her guard. She'd run right over Rogar. Yovanna thought to herself. But Dantis…Kierha had always wanted to be a queen of her own right, and while she couldn't give her the Stormlands, she could give her a husband who would let her do the ruling.
"Close by," Yovanna smiled thinly. "Should we have need of any, I'll send for them and we'll make all kinds of introductions then."
"Sounds like a plan," Garth said gregariously, turning his attention to where Erich had unfolded a map. "What can I do for you all?"
Erich pointed to Storm's End on the map. "For years, I have worked to build trade and ties with the East. Riches have come in from Essos, either plundered by pirates that we've caught, or traded through New Valyria. Myrish lenses, Pentoshi spices, all of it now comes through the Stormlands. Opening up routes to Highgarden would be mutually beneficial – we would get food from the Reach, and you would receive plenty of Essosi delights."
King Gardener's eyes glinted in a way that was truly unlike him, or at least the man that Yovanna knew. It was the face that Yovanna saw when she could tell someone was going to agree to a proposal because they thought they had made it up. Erich did it all the time – it was one of the things she liked most about her husband.
"A more stable relationship between Highgarden and Storm's End is only practical," Garth spread his arms, downing a goblet of wine, but refusing when a servant offered him more.
His daughter smiled and nodded, taking a sweeter voice as she pushed her blonde hair – a trait from her mother, Yovanna knew, back behind her. "I've heard that Prince Rogar is very gallant and has fought the Dornish in the Marches. The Stormlands are lucky to have such a man as their Crown Prince."
Her father nodded along with her words sagely and Yovanna smiled as well. Gallant, and pliable. Yovanna thought to herself. You'll need to try harder, girl, if you think I'll give you my son. Though the decision rested with her husband, she knew most matters related directly to politics like marriage alliances and accords. He dealt with the martial matters and with trade – those matters, Yovanna cared little to nothing for.
"He is a fine man, indeed," Garth said with a wide smile. "And unwed, if I am not mistaken?"
Do something, Yovanna quietly urged her husband, but he just nodded. Well, King Garth should be used to women talking in these conversations. "Your son is quite a nice fellow as well," She smiled at Dantis, who thanked her in return. "Unwed as well, right?"
"That is correct," Garth replied. "If this little deal is to go through, then we have options, it seems."
Yovanna nearly sighed in relief, turning to one of her guards. "Get Kierha, please." She faced the King of the Reach once more and smiled. "I hope my daughter garners as much praise as my son." She said with a hint of playfulness in her voice. Luxinia would've done fine as well, but she didn't have the same drive as her twin sister. None of her kids did, at that.
It wasn't a minute longer and she could hear the click of her daughter's shoes. Yovanna didn't bother to look now, she already knew how she was dressed. A pale yellow dress, her black hair shining, and she was a touch on the shorter side for the Durrandon family at least.
She would make a fetching match for the Gardener prince in all truthfulness. Most of the kids took after their mother, it would seem. Dantis also had the bright gold hair, and his skin was as tanned as some of the Dornish she'd seen. He had broader shoulders than most Reachmen she'd come across, and a pleasant enough face. Different enough, but good in that way.
"Prince Dantis and King Garth, I present my daughter, Princess Kierha Durrandon of the Stormlands," Erich stood up, looping his arm in with his daughter's and leading her to where the Gardeners had stood up to meet her.
"Lovely to meet you," Dantis whispered, taking her hand and giving a light kiss to the back of her knuckles. The girl just smiled and nodded.
"Well then," Garth grinned, his jowls shaking a bit as he laughed. "Do we have a deal then? Opening up of routes between Highgarden and Stormland houses, and the marriage of Dantis and pretty Kierha within a certain period of time after this wedding we're at. I doubt old King Harrik would like it if we upstaged him this soon."
Erich nodded, much more serious than his Reach counterpart. "No, he would not. But he will have to deal with it at some time or another."
Garth laughed and shook the King's hand, before he began to head for the door. "Princess Kierha can stay with us for the day, if she'd like. Meet the whole family." Yovanna couldn't help but see how his eyes darked a little bit when he said the last bit.
"Of course," Yovanna smiled, and crossed to where her daughter was, kissing her once on each cheek before she let her go. She nodded for a Durrandon guard to accompany her. Soon, the room was vacant again, just Yovanna and her husband, as well as their own guards. The door shut with a quiet click.
"The Queen doesn't know," Erich said immediately as he ran a hand through his hair.
"No she doesn't," Yovanna smirked. "Her husband thought he was smart enough to deal with it himself. So deal with it he did – and gave us a way in."
A Hunting Party
. . .
Ravos had been sticking to himself while all the families had been milling about. A few days ago, he'd met his betrothed, a slip of a girl named Gwynesse Harlaw of Harlaw. She'd been like he had thought, a bit more on the ironborn side, and somewhat reminding him of what he didn't want in a bride. But, it could've been worse to be sure.
The first major activity that his father had trusted him with was orchestrating a hunt with a few of the younger lords and sons of lords. Darrik was too much of a loose cannon when it came to fighting, that the more controlled Ravos was easier to lead the lords through the woods around Harrenhal. He'd been careful not to pick those who may have a problem with others. In all, there would be five of them. Ravos, Torek Lannister (heir to the Westerlands itself), Alan and Harlen Flowers (different houses, interesting enough), and Tirius Stark.
Harlen Flowers was, of course, the bastard of Garth Gardener one that was more commonly known because of his Florent mother. Alan Flowers was a Tarly bastard, and everyone knew he was soon in line for legitimization from the King. Horn Hill needed a lord after all, and this was the easiest way to make it happen.
It was pouring down rain that morning – he knew they'd get pretty wet even from the shielding provided by the dense forest. Truth be told, he was surprised when all of the men showed up in the doorway that led into Harrenhal. Torek was a big man, as big as his father (and Ravos' own as well). He was broader and taller than Ravos himself – one of the most eligible bachelors in Westeros, Ravos assumed. Harlen Flowers was big too, about the same size as Torek but with a more rugged appearance. Alan Flowers was not as martially ordained, Ravos could tell, but the sword Heartsbane helped show something off, at least. The Stark was the closest in size and disposition to Ravos himself – both sturdy, but not huge.
"Good morning," Ravos said crisply, a quiver slung over his shoulder and his bow in hand. A hunting knife was strapped to his thigh, and he wore dark clothing in contrast to some of the others who preferred to wear their house colors. He nearly rolled his eyes when he saw the Stark wearing furs – he knew it was a thing up North, but they would get sopping wet down here. "There's plenty of game in the forest, so have at it."
He wasn't chatty, and particularly not when it came to people he didn't know. Ravos set out, immediately hit by the rain that fell outside. He didn't care much, rather enjoying the shower. The men followed him until they got into the forest, where because of the denseness, it seemed like a light trickling of water rather than a straight downpour.
"This is nothing compared to the North," Tirius was telling Harlen, pulling his sword out. "There'd be snow everywhere, you'd have to be looking for footprints, not the animals themselves because they'd be falling into the snow."
Ravos ignored that remark, feeling like telling the man if he knew what being on a boat for hours in the middle of a storm felt like. His eyes looked around the area, scouting for something. He wasn't too occupied with actually trying to catch anything, but he figured he should at least keep up his good name.
The first catch of the morning fell to the King's bastard Harlen, a ripe young rabbit that would serve well for Harrenhal's kitchens. "Take it down to Helda, she'll cook it into a nice stew for you," Ravos said to him, some of the other men heading into the forest to look for prizes of their own.
"A nice pelt it would make," The Stark added helpfully. "Skin it, and it'll serve you well."
Ravos meandered down the path, hearing some animals but not taking the time to shoot them because he had his sight on something bigger. Hoof paths led down by a riverbed – a deer, or maybe even a healthy stag if he was lucky. Rabbits were all too common, squirrels too, but deer were getting rarer by the week it seemed. For a castle as large as Harrenhal, it needed a food source just as big, if not bigger.
His boots were slick with rain, and he did his best not to let them squeak. His long hair was hopeless now, completely wet, but he didn't care too much. He made it a few feet further, and spotted the deer ahead. He pulled an arrow from the quiver, and pulled it back in the string. He took a breath and released, the arrow whizzing in the air towards the deer. Ravos sighed in relief as it buried into the head of it. A clean kill, at least. Easy enough to take back. The deer had lost its spots, but probably only just.
"Feel like taking other peoples' kills, ironborn?" The Lannister was around the corner, putting an arrow back into his quiver from where he'd presumably drawn it.
Ravos hadn't even seen him, climbing over a few bigger rocks to gather the deer up. "If you would've moved faster, perhaps you would've gotten it." Tortoise. Ravos thought to himself, thinking of how Torek had said ironborn like it was a curse.
Ravos had his own troubles with being an ironborn, he didn't need others to pile onto it. He grabbed the legs of the deer and swung it over his shoulders, carrying it with him back towards the area where they'd all come from earlier.
"Figures," He heard the Lannister say to himself, not all too quietly.
Ravos snorted as he kept going on past him. "We may be ironborn, but we're not cheats and crooks like what happens in Lannisport and Casterly Rock." He was tired of people mocking them – even if he didn't approve of some of the more brutish aspects of ironborn culture. It was just the way it was at that point. No one's life was clean, and surely not a Lannister's.
"What'd you say?" Torek had a nasty sword, long and looking quite sharp. Ravos wasn't sure if it had been out from when he had been tracking the deer, but he didn't want to take any chances.
"Keep to yourself and worry about yourself." Ravos said shortly, stomping towards the entrance of the forest.
The two Flowers were waiting there, Harlen with a couple rabbits, and Alan with a squirrel or two. Tirius was coming up on them, having gotten a rabbit and a squirrel each.
"Are we going to go deeper than this?" Alan asked. If it had been one of the others, Ravos would have been short with them for asking – he was tired of several of them already, in fact.
"It'll be time for supper before we know it. We're heading back," Ravos told them, leading the way towards Harrenhal and the kitchens where they could deposit the game they'd caught. The sooner this is done, the sooner I can be at peace again. Ravos thought to himself.
. . .
Home
Prince Brandon Stark hadn't taken the trip to Harrenhal like the three of his siblings. While he was saddened that he couldn't make the trip south, what had truly made him feel detested was Alaric putting his uncle Cregan in charge of Winterfell rather than giving Brandon a chance. He loved his family, and his father, just as any son would, but he had always had dreams of grandeur that seemed to be smashed by expectations of a second son.
Winterfell was quiet, just as it had been for weeks by that point. They hadn't heard anything from the south yet, but he was sure his family had made it to Harrenhal by now. Only a handful of Stark men-at-arms had stayed in Winterfell, most of the household guard heading south with their King. Brandon sat out in the courtyard, humming a tune to himself as he listened to the wind blow around him.
Years ago, Tirius and him had been a spitting image of the other. But where his older brother was prideful and aloof at times, Brandon was warmer and more personable. He liked singing, but even though he had some non-Northern hobbies, he was much more used to the cold than his twin Lyarra. He'd always joked that he had taken the strength and resistance to cold in the womb, and she'd taken the dreams and wishes. That wasn't entirely true, but he didn't want his family to be hurt because he thought he should have a bigger place in Winterfell than he did.
Brandon was surprised when he heard the calling of horns in the distance. No one was supposed to head for Winterfell, at least that the young prince knew about. His furs were laid over his shoulders, and his strides led towards the halls of the keep. His great uncle should be notified, at least.
"Horns," He said when he arrived in the Great Hall, where his uncle was seated upon the great throne of Winterfell. "Someone is coming to the castle."
Cregan raised an eyebrow and quickly descended down the stairs towards his nephew. "Somebody? Do we have an idea who is heading towards the castle?"
Brandon flushed, not having realized that he should've stuck around to see who it was. He just assumed that the person in charge should be informed of people who maybe weren't supposed to be coming to the castle at all. "No…"
Cregan put his hand on Brandon's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Lighten up, kid." He smiled thinly, and the two went down into the courtyard together.
"Princes Stark," One of the men said once they came. "There are men coming from the North – their bear the giant of Umber. And men to the west as well – the fist of Glover."
Cregan gave a short nod. "Open the gates." The creaking metal began to lift as men pulled the gates up from the icy ground in which they had been sitting for a while. Brandon was excited as he stepped back to stand with his father – after all, he hadn't been able to see many castles recently since he'd been stuck in Winterfell. Most times in this part of the year, he'd make a trip down to White Harbor to see Lord Manderly and his kin.
"The Lord of Last Hearth is…." Cregan prompted him before they could arrive.
"Lord Ulfgar Umber." Brandon said. He didn't leave Cregan any time to say who the ruler of Deepwood Motte was before he said it himself. "And the Lord of Deepwood Motte is Lord Rickard Glover."
"Good," Cregan said gruffly, but he afforded him a quiet smile. The first to arrive were the men from Last Hearth, about a dozen men with their hulking lord amongst them.
Lord Umber was a big man by any measure, but a good man, from what Brandon had seen of him. He liked to sing up in Last Hearth – even if the lord didn't necessarily enjoy it as much as some, he was always a pleasant man to deal with. Kind, but firm. Brandon always thought that was kind of him to at least be kind and respectable to something he was ambivalent about.
Lord Umber swung off the horse and hit the ground with both feet firmly planted. The sound it made was a heavy thud. The man's beard was shaggy and thick – something Brandon was jealous of, since it seemed as though it was hard for him to grow one. He took more after his father in that manner, even Tirius kept it more trimmed than some other Northern lords.
"Lord Umber, what is the pleasure of seeing you in Winterfell?" Cregan stepped forward and the two men embraced.
"Nothing, other than advice for an old man," Umber grinned and the two laughed, Ulfgar craning his neck to look back. "It looks like Glover's followed me, that bastard."
Cregan chuckled. "Rickard is different from his father, Lord Umber, even you would like him. The men of Deepwood Motte are always welcome at Winterfell, as are those from Last Hearth."
"That is why I have come," Ulfgar admitted, the Umber men sidling to the side of the courtyard to get out of the way of the approaching Glover men. "And I do know this Glover boy has more mettle than his father – he sent thirty men to Last Hearth in chains to go to the Wall. Takes heavy stones to do that – half were ironborn I'd swear. Must've gone for Bear Island and hit Deepwood Motte on the way."
"You didn't go to Harrenhal?" Brandon couldn't help but ask.
"No, my prince," He said politely as he glanced to him. Brandon could almost know that he would've said boy if he weren't a Stark. "That's a long ways south for a Stark, it's even farther for an Umber. I'd bet you that Lord Glover would agree with that as well. I have bigger problems to worry about – the Night's Watch says there's two separate wildling hosts building, one in the forest, and one off towards Eastwatch. Your father, the King has told me to come when I have word, and I have word to share."
Brandon didn't get a chance to ask him what it was when the Glover horses trotted into camp. There were only a half dozen of them, armored and on their steeds. Lord Glover was a…pretty man, is all Brandon could say. Handsome. He had silky black hair, a strong jaw, a bit of shadow beneath it, and cool blue eyes. He dressed finely, like something Brandon himself would wear. Strange enough, he hadn't met Lord Glover even on some of his trips to Deepwood Motte or Bear Island (on the chance he made it there).
"Lord Glover," Cregan said. "What is the pleasure of the Lord of Deepwood coming to Winterfell?"
"Ill tidings," Rickard said as he hopped off his horse. "I've seen ships off the coast of Sea Dragon Point, and north as well. Those ironborn are waiting for us to take a wrong move, I swear it." He stepped towards them, exchanging cold, but polite pleasantries with Lord Umber.
"The vultures circle," Cregan sighed. "I fear my nephew walked into something he didn't understand."
"Together with the combined Kings and Queens of the south," Lord Glover agreed. "I can only hope that they make it back North in one piece. I imagine that our levies will be called before long."
"Winter is coming," Cregan agreed. "Come inside, we have much to discuss." The Lords of the North followed, Brandon trailing them. He had never been a warrior, or much of one at least. But the idea of bashing some ironborn or sending arrows into their skulls filled him with a strange sort of happiness at least. Maybe even he would earn some sort of castle along the way, who knew?
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and enjoying the story. I hope you liked this chapter. We stepped away from Harrenhal a bit with the last POV, which was kind of fun to explore and write about. Thank you to all who have submitted characters – please inform me in PMs if you plan on making any more. I want to get those sorted out soon and be able to officially close the SYOC in good time.
