Chapter 3: Harrenhal
When the caravan finally arrived at Harrenhal, night had nearly fallen. In the gray twilight, the twisted, melted towers of Harrenhal seemed even more frightening than Rhaenys had imagined. Like the fingers of some giant ogre, the five towers of Harrenhal reached above their pockmarked walls as if they were trying to grab at the moon hanging low over the horizon.
Rhaenys had wheedled her way onto a horse again - Ser Arthur's, this time - and flattened her back against his white-and-silver breastplate as it loomed closer and closer. "It looks like there are scary things there," she whispered.
Ser Arthur laughed. "It just looks that way. Lord Whent and his household are quite hospitable, I hear."
"Do we have to stay in the castle?" Rhaenys said quietly. "I could sleep in the wheelhouse!"
"I thought you hated the wheelhouse, Rhaenys," Ser Arthur said, poking a gloved finger into her side.
"Only when it's moving," she muttered rebelliously.
The evening was chilly, but Mama had wrapped her up in a deceptively warm, silky cloak against the spring chill. She was wearing two pairs of socks as well. She wasn't nearly as uncomfortable on horseback as she had been at the beginning of the week. Because she was generally passed back into the wheelhouse after an hour or so, she was managing to develop tolerance for the discomfort before she developed saddle sores.
There sound of trumpets greeted their arrival, and as Rhaegar and the King passed through the great gates, the sound was nearly deafening.
The Lord Whent and his household had gathered to greet them, decked out in their cool-weather best and flying a combination of their house banners and the banners of the crown.
One of the knights helped Aerys down from his horse, and almost as one, the entire crowd bowed deeply.
"Your grace, Harrenhal is yours," Lord Whent intoned.
"Rise," Aerys said, his voice rasping over the crowd. "Greetings, Lord Whent. I trust the preparations are going smoothly?"
Though Aerys was trying to cut a regal figure in front of the throng of people, everyone seemed as small as ants with the walls towers looming above them. They just kept going up and up, and Rhaenys had to crane her neck to see the point that almost seemed like they were curling around them. They were in the fist of the giant.
"Yes, your grace," Lord Whent said, straightening. "As you well know, my wife, the Lady Shella Whent, and my four sons and daughter."
The indicated people gave short bows or curtsies, as appropriate.
Aerys' lip curled. "And this is the fair maiden that this tourney is held for?" he said, a dismissive hand swept in the girl's direction.
"Yes, my daughter, the lovely Lady Talla, of house Whent," Lord Whent blustered forward, ignoring the obvious slight against his daughter
From her seat in front of Ser Arthur, Rhaenys looked the girl up and down. She was quite lovely, as a matter of fact. She had honey-brown hair that fell nearly to her waist, pinned away from her face with an elegant net of braids that looked very much like braided lace, seeded with pearls. Her high cheekbones and perfect peaches-and-cream complexion finished the picture of a southron lady. Her hands were neatly tucked in front of her in a white fur ruff, but she could just see the edges of lace that must trim her gloves.
Before Aerys could say anything more, Lady Whent gracefully cut in. "Can we escort you to your rooms? A feast awaits."
"A feast fit for kings, I hope," the king said, eyeing the small, round woman in front of him suspiciously.
"The best that our estate has to offer," Lord Whent promised.
The smell of roasted meat and sweet baked goods was a good enough guide to the great hall, but their escort was nonetheless appreciated. Rhaenys, Mother, and Aegon were brought to a different end of the table from Grandfather and Father, to sit with Lady Shella, Lady Talla, and the youngest two boys, Doile and Cleyton. They were still a bit older than Rhaenys, but young enough to not be seated with the older two boys in the center of the dais.
The children all sat in very awkward silence before Lady Talla quietly gestured to the very orange pile of mashed potatoes. "You should try the sweet mash," she said, reaching out to spoon some onto Rhaenys' plate. "It's Doile's favorite."
Doile nodded furiously, and seemed glad for any excuse to break the silence. "It's really good! 'Manda, down in the kitchens, always makes it with the first 'tatos of the spring season, and it's never as good late-"
Smoothly, Talla used her spoon to shove a small spoonful of said sweet mash into her brother's mouth with a beatific smile. Her teeth were white and shining in her mouth, like the pearls in her hair. "Don't mind him, my lady," she said smoothly.
Rhaenys reached out to try and grab the serving spoon, but her arm was a little too short. "Lady Josalia, could you get some for me?" she asked, turning to where her handmaid was seated, on her left.
Josalia obliged, the dark, intricate designs she and the other Dornish handmaids had traced on each other's arms and torsos two days before on full display in the long, mustard-yellow traditional two-piece dress she wore. The skirt was nothing but about six yards of sheer mustard-yellow fabric gathered in folds around her waist with the end tossed over one shoulder and connected to the opposite wrist with an intricately detailed enameled cuff. Her top was a short-sleeved, midriff-baring top made of a slightly more opaque fabric encrusted in tastefully placed colorful embroidery that depicted a scene full of colorful exotic birds over a desert oasis.
Rhaenys had watched in awe as they turned something that looked like mud into gorgeous designs that traced paths up their arms and shoulders, while giggling and sharing secrets. She had begged them to do her as well, so she had the small, dark tracing of a flight of birds encircling her wrist. They likely would have done more, but Mama had pulled her away from the group to help select the outfits for the tournament.
Talla tittered, a little covering her mouth. "Aren't you cold, Lady Josalia?"
Josalia spooned the potatoes onto Rhaenys' plate. "Not at all, milady," she said with her distinct Dornish lilt. "We are quite near the fire."" Her eyes slid to the younger girl's dress of fine, pale yellow wool, trimmed with lace with delicate embroidery around the collar and wrists. "And, though rare in your kingdom, silk is very warm."
Talla smiled again, but there was an edge in it. "Is it silk, then?" She turned to Rhaenys and her brothers. "What do you think of Lady Josalia's..." her eyes traced Josalia up and down, from the faint outline of her legs through the sheer skirt to delicate cormorant pendant cradled just over the swell of her breast. "Dress?"
Rhaenys felt distinctly like she was caught between two snarling beasts, each one licking their chops and asking her to come play. Across the table, the two boys exchanged a single glance and started shoveling food into their mouths with fervor. The youngest one opened his mouth to answer, and on instinct Talla snapped, "Not with your mouth full, Cleyton!"
Rhaenys physically shrank down a bit in her chair as the silence, filled only by chewing, became deafening. "I think Lady Josalia's dress is pretty," she said in a tiny voice. "I like the color."
"So you do, sweetling," Josalia cooed, spooning another serving of sweet mash and a slice of roasted meat onto Rhaenys' plate. "The dress was a gift from my oldest brother," She directed at Talla, with the sweetest (and toothiest, somehow,) of smiles. "It's traditional in our area of Dorne." She took the tiniest, most delicate of sips of her wine, her red lips leaving a faint half-moon on her silver goblet. "A little old-fashioned, but I wanted something traditional for such an auspicious event."
Lady Talla's eyes widened, just a little, before she smoothed her temper back into something ladylike. "Well, I suppose it suits you." She took a similar sip of her goblet, flushing faintly.
"There's little that doesn't," Lady Josalia said. "Though I'm sure it would suit you as well." She lifted her dark eyes coyly to meet Lady Talla's soft hazel ones. "Would you like to try one, later?"
Talla flushed pink, down to her collar. "Oh, I d-don't think I could," she stuttered. "My father would never let me wear anything like that."
Josalia rolled her eyes expressively. "Oh, nobody has to see, Lady Talla. You can just try it on in my quarters sometime."
And with that, the tension at the table diffused.
"Oh, would you mind?" Lady Talla said. "I wouldn't want to impose…"
Josalia smiled, genuinely this time. Not like a wolf. "Perhaps in the morning, while they are setting up the tents."
Rhaenys took a hesitant bite of her food, now cold, as she tried to calm her racing heart. The sweet mash was pretty good, after all.
Josalia settled Rhaenys into bed while Mama nursed Aegon in the wooden chair by the fire. The crackling flames were a comforting sound, as well as the lullaby that Mama hummed. Lady Ashara stood behind her, carefully brushing out Mama's hair in preparation for bed.
"Lady Talla isn't very nice, is she," Rhaenys mused. "Why were you so nice to her?" In her previous life, she was never very good with people. She seemed much better at reading people in this life, though. It was so odd that people's faces could be like books, to be read and interpreted. Before, faces might as well have belonged to statues.
Josalia stilled, then sat back on her heels and regarded Rhaenys again, with that curious look. "Something you should learn, Princess, is that there are very few people who are intentionally cruel without reason." She fluffed up the pillow, then, displeased with the thinness, supplemented it with another. "Once you find out the reason, you can often change their mind about you. Lady Talla is used to being the center of attention, as the only daughter of a Lord. She was afraid that other pretty girls would take that away from her."
Mama chimed in from the fire, Aegon's blonde hair glittering in the firelight. "Lady Talla tried something, Josalia?" she asked, half-turning away from the fire to face them.
Josalia laughed. "Just petty jealousy, Elia. Like Milandra."
Ashara sighed. "Don't make her too angry, Jos."
"She was really nice to her, actually," Rhaenys jumped in. "Even invited her to get ready together in the morning."
"I learned my lesson the first time, Elia," Josalia said. "There are only so many times you can set someone's skirts on fire before they change their ways."
"It was one time," Elia grumbled, tugging the edge of her dressing gown over her exposed breast.
"Once was enough," Josalia said, dark eyes meeting Mama's with a wry look. She pressed a kiss to Rhaenys' forehead, and reached for Aegon. "I'll put him down, Elia. Get to sleep?"
Elia relinquished him reluctantly. Usually she put the children to bed herself, but with the hustle and bustle of the tournament, it was only logical to rely a bit more on her handmaids.
Ashara quietly collected the rest of Elia's things and trailed behind her out of the room.
Mama and Ashara were there to wake Aegon and Rhaenys up in the morning, bright and early. They were quickly fed and then suited up in the outfits chosen for the first day of the tournament.
Rhaenys was in a long-sleeved cream brocade dress, with a bodice embroidered with ruby-red dragons. The shoes were a sensible black leather, laced up with red laces, paired with a long red hooded cloak lined with dark silk to keep the wool from scratching her skin.
"Are you ready for the tourney, sweetling?" Mama asked, pinning the cloak in place with dragon-shaped pins made of onyx.
"I guess so," Rhaenys sighed. It was starting to make her back and legs hurt, standing so long to be laced into the dress.
"Today is particularly important, you know," Mama said. "There hasn't been a gathering of Lords like this for a long time. Definitely not since you were born." She carefully gathered her up onto the table so that Lady Ashara could begin on her hair.
"Because of winter?" Rhaenys asked, finally giving into the urge to kick out her feet to shake out some of the tension.
"Your grandfather hasn't hosted a tourney at King's Landing in a long time," Mama said, as she pulled the long lacy white infant gown over Aegon's head. "So for many of the lords, this will be the first time they will see you."
Rhaenys winced as Ashara gently pulled at a knot with soft fingertips. "I'll do my best," she said honestly. Secretly, though, she aimed to see as few people as possible. The fewer people who knew her face, the better.
"I know you will, little wren," Mama said, stopping by to drop a kiss on the top of Rhaenys' head. "Now, I have to go get ready. Ashara, are you almost finished?
Ashara nodded. She'd simply pulled Rhaenys' hair away from her face with two spear-shaped barrettes, allowing the long ringlets to drop over her back in a cascade.
A trumpet sounded outside, and Mama rushed to the window to peer out into the foggy morning.
"Sun banners!" came the faint cry from the wall. "Sun banners!"
"Oberyn's party is here!" Elia said, her face lighting up.
Rhaenys fidgeted in her seat as she stood behind Father and Mama, waiting to be announced and seated for the opening ceremonies. The spring morning was chilly, though, reaching cold fingers under her collar. Rhaenys went to pull up her hood, but Ashara stopped her with one hand, the other occupied with Aegon. "Not now, sweetling," she cautioned. "The crowd wants to see your face. And it wouldn't do to mess up your hair."
Rhaenys rolled her eyes, and instead went to huddle a bit in Ashara's skirts for warmth. She hadn't seen hide or hair of the Lady Josalia this morning, as she had 'other things' to take care of today.
Ashara's dress was in her house colors, a soft lilac dress of painted silk that was tight around the bodice and upper arms but flared out into layers and layers of skirt, gathered in loose pleats. She was also wearing plenty of petticoats as well, causing the skirt to spread out around her in a loose trumpet shape that constantly shifted with every movement, like the rippling of the sea. Tiny shooting stars, painted in silver against the silk, caused the skirt to glimmer and shimmer like the ocean.
Finally, the trumpet sounded and the footmen announced them. "And now… for the royal family! The young Prince and Princess: Aegon Targeryen and Rhaenys Targeryen, escorted by the Lady Ashara Dayne and Ser Arthur Dayne!"
Rhaenys took a deep breath, tried to fight the sinking feeling in her stomach, and stepped out onto the empty wooden dais. They stood up there for a moment as the Lords and Ladies of Westeros bowed to them, arrayed in a brilliant display of colors and styles. As they straightened, Rhaenys felt her heart rate rise with every new pair of eyes trained on her.
Hesitantly, she lifted a shaky hand to wave, and a ripple of giggles and coos broke out over the crowd. Rhaenys blushed, turning as red as her dress. She wished that the dais would crack open underneath her so she could fall through.
Ashara ushered her down the steps on the other side, to the box that was reserved for the women and children of the royal family.
The eyes followed her, then jerked away as the announcer cleared his throat and began again. "The Prince of Dragonstone, Rhaegar Targeryen and Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms, escorted by Prince Llewen Martell of Dorne and Ser Oswell Whent, of our very own Harrenhal!"
Mama and Father walked out onto richly painted wooden dais, to a stronger roar of cheers and clapping.
They were both radiant, with Father in his elegant black-and-red doublet entwined with golden dragon embroidery, and Mama with her brilliant goldenrod yellow overgown that draped dramatically over the shoulders and was held in place only by two sets of golden cords that gathered the folds of sheer wool around her waist. Her underdress was black, gathered at the throat and wrists by golden circlets and closely following the lines of her body. Where the goldenrod yellow overdress dropped in the front, there was an embroidered motif of a gold-and-silver sun.
They were both wearing simple circlets as well, in entwined gold and silver, set with tiny rubies.
After giving the crowd a moment to bow and ogle them, they too made their way over to the box.
Mama settled down and motioned for Ashara to hand her Aegon and cuddled him close to her chest.
Everyone's attention turned again as the announcer began his final announcement. "Announcing Aerys Targeryen II, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, escorted by Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Gerold Hightower!"
The stairs creaked as Aerys made his way onto the dais, resplendent in a black doublet slashed to reveal the red silk beneath. His crown was golden, set with rubies like Father and Mama's, but intricately moulded for each spike to be a spurt of flame from a dragon's mouth.
Very few cheers met his arrival as everyone immediately fell into deep bows, and only rose when the king commanded them.
Instead of making his way to his box, however, it was traditional for the king to hear requests and make a few proclamations before the tournament began.
"People of Westeros," Aerys began, his voice rasping out over the crowd. "Lord Walter Whent has been so gracious as to host this tourney for the nameday of his maiden daughter, the Lady Talla Whent. I bless the proceedings of said event, and will, as tradition dictates, grant one wish, within reason, to the winners of each event." His face twisted a bit as he mentioned said tradition before continuing. "Now, as many of you know, I need to name a new Kingsguard after the death of Ser Harlan Grandison, sadly passed from illness."
Father sat up in his chair, his eyes narrowing. Mama leaned over and whispered "Did he say anything about naming a new Kingsguard today?" Rhaenys overheard.
"Not to my knowledge," Father whispered back, his silver hair falling over one side of his face to hide his lips. "Though, I have my suspicions…"
"Ser Jamie Lannister, will you please come forward!"
Whispers broke out across the crowd, but Rhaenys was confused. Wasn't he already a member of the Kingsguard? He'd ridden with them from King's Landing, after all. And he was a Kingsguard for them in the memories she had.
She tugged on Ashara's sleeve, but she was staring at the dais, ashen-faced. She exchanged glances with Ser Arthur, whose mouth was set into a grim line.
"Lord Hand will be very displeased," Ashara said to him quietly.
Ser Jamie jumped over a barrier where several other notable lords and ladies were seated. Now that Rhaenys was actually looking, his armor was not white, but a pale silver inlaid with a golden lion.
She bit her lip and gnawed on it for a moment, trying to remember. But as hard as she searched her memories, no event like this came to mind. She remembered vaguely that the King had named him as a kingsguard to undermine Tywin, but she'd heard no mention of Tywin at the castle in the few days she had been there.
Fear crashed over her, so much that she nearly didn't catch the next words.
"Ser Jamie Lannister, you have proven yourself a knight of great skill and potential," the King intoned, with the facsimile of a generous smile. His pale purple eyes flashed with some other emotion, though. "I hereby name you Ser Jamie Lannister, Kingsguard." He nodded to a nearby servant. "The cloak."
A servant hurried up, handing a package to Ser Hightower.
"Ser Hightower, if you please," the king said, motioning down to where Jamie stood.
Jamie was wide-eyed and full of joy, was practically vibrating in place as he stood before the king.
Ser Hightower made his way down before Jamie, his pristine white cloak picking up the moisture from the morning dew on the tender spring clover. "Kneel, Ser Jamie," He said, his quiet voice echoing throughout the arena.
Over Jamie's bowed head, he began. "Do you, Ser Jamie, swear to protect the royal family from any harm or threat, defend their honor and keep their secrets, and forgo any lands or inheritance once granted to you. Will you father no children and devote all of your days to the service to the King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, and all those of his blood?"
Jamie took a moment, and lifted his head to meet Ser Hightower's eyes before reciting the oath that he had obviously dreamt of giving for a long time. "Hear my words and bear witness to my vow. On this day, I swear my life to the King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. I shall protect the royal family from all harm or threat and defend their honor and secrets. I shall live and die at the word of the king, no matter the command. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children. I am the shield which defends the Iron Throne. I am the sword that defeats the king's enemies. I pledge my life and honor to the Iron Throne, and the blood of the one that inhabits it, for this day and all the days to come."
The commoners in the crowd began clapping wildly as Ser Hightower swung the white cloak around Jamie's shoulders, unclasping the red cloak in a move not unlike a marriage ceremony.
"Presenting Ser Jamie Lannister, of the Kingsguard!" Ser Hightower bellowed, ushering Jamie up to the dais to take a position behind the king.
A ripple of unease went through the crowd, as Aerys had obviously intended for it to do.
No one is safe, this pronouncement said. The King can lay claim to the heir of the Hand of the King, to any of the sons and daughters of the realm.
Rhaenys shuddered physically at the sense of disruption that this set off in the crowd, as the whispers spread. Even the commoners, many of whom did not understand the significance of this announcement, felt the unease, as the clapping petered off uncertainly. Still more, a new fear curdled in her gut.
Her memories were not reliable.
How else could she have made such a mistake? Making decisions based on her memories would have to take more careful deliberation than she was using. I can't make assumptions about people based on my memories, Rhaenys thought, hiding her face in her white fur muff. Next time could be much more dangerous than being caught off guard.