The Sunflowers were wrapping up a rehearsal. They were already partly done with the costumes, so, besides her bright makeup that let her pass for a young woman from a sufficient distance, Myribeth was already clad in a glittering dress that somewhat resembled one of Alysanne's silvery dresses, and Garris, the old orphan of the Greenblood, was wearing a septon's robes (several septons' attires, as Alarra had learned, had already been among their supplies) and a wooden, yet-unpainted replica of the crystal crown. Ellara and Melara, the red-haired twins, were in the long, dark, shabby robes of the begging brothers, their hair and faces hidden under hoods.
"Please, Your Holiness! What would become of my darling children?" Myribeth cried, falling to her knees with her hands clasped.
"They will be taken in the care of these two good begging brothers," Garris said dismissively, "and wash themselves of sin by collecting money for the septs."
"Doesn't work," said Myribeth, not changing her position one bit. "It's too long, just as I feared. Taken, in the care, of these, two, blah, blah, blah... We need you to be curt and have people gasp in shock."
"The begging brothers will take care of them," Garris immediately suggested. "They'll wash themselves of sin..."
"No. Too many theys. Try simply They'll take to the road with the begging brothers. Let's go over it again..." she stood up and fell to her knees once more:
"What would become of my darling children?"
"They'll take to the road," Garris made a small pause and continued with cold menace in his voice, gesturing towards Ellara and Melara, "with the begging brothers!"
"Ah!" Myribeth gracefully collapsed with a long, drawn-out groan. Brennan, who was usually the only one to provide the sounds until Myribeth finished with the full music score, accompanied it with a dramatic drum roll.
The rest of the Sunflowers and Alarra burst into applause. In Alarra's opinion, watching the rehearsals made the actual theatricals even more fascinating.
"Good job, everybody," Myribeth said, getting up. "In two hours, let's start with the Seven's appearance, so make sure to be well-rested."
"Oh, we shall be, especially Elly," Melara answered, throwing off the begging brother's hood with a giggle, and her sister, who had already taken off her hood, blushed beetroot red.
"Do try to look the part of the Maiden after the break," Myribeth said matter-of-factly. "All right, anyone got any questions? No? Then we'll meet here two hours later."
"Er... Mistress Myribeth?" Alarra called out. "I'm sorry – Mistress Myribeth?"
"Yes, my lady?" the Sunflowers' leader bowed to her.
"When Lord Baratheon leaves for Dorne, we are planning to make it a grand procession. Her Grace was wondering if some of the Sunflowers could sing during it."
"Sing? Not act?"
"Yes, well, Lord Baratheon is fine with singers but dislikes mummers," Alarra said, shrugging apologetically.
"That's rather peculiar," said Myribeth. "Oh, well, everyone has their own tastes. For women, you've got the Ladies Fair, and I can't presume to compete with them..."
"Oh, no!" Alarra assured her. "Your songs are beautiful!"
"I'm flattered, my lady, but we only have half a dozen of them at most in a play, and Violet's girls do nothing but sing. They are bound to be more skillful than us. But they don't have men, and there, I think, we can assist them... Caleotte and Tylar here have the most gorgeous voices."
The two men she named stepped ahead. Caleotte, a tall, handsome, lithe, always smartly-dressed Reachman with curly golden hair and bright blue eyes, played several of the episodic courtiers and the Warrior, but Alarra had wondered a few times why he was with the mummers at all – he could have won glory and riches as a knight or at least a sellsword. As for Tylar, a pudgy balding Valeman in his forties, Alarra already knew his unimpressive looks hid a deep, melodic baritone voice – when poor Brennan had to sing a marching song as his character went off to war, he only opened his mouth, and Tyler, hiding backstage, sang all the words.
"Tylar's voice is better than mine," Caleotte said. "And he only plays people in the crowd – I have to prepare for the Warrior's part."
"Are you sure?" Myribeth asked.
"I won't mind if you sing at the procession, really," Tylar said. "I've already got all my songs in The Penance."
"Exactly, that's because you have the better voice," repeated Caleotte. "I'd rather learn the Warrior's words to perfection."
Personally, Alarra thought that someone like Caleotte would look much more impressive at the procession than Tylar, but if he said his voice was poorer-suited to the task, she couldn't argue with that. We mustn't delude ourselves into thinking that we have a better knowledge of crafts than the craftsmen, Alysanne had always taught her. If, for instance, a goldsmith says he can't finish a crown in time for the coronation, believe him. If he seems untrustworthy to you, consult another goldsmith, or two, or three. Unless you have learned to work with metals yourself, you can't accuse him of lying by yourself.
"Well, then, Tylar it is," Alarra said, smiling at the Valeman. "If you could just pick the songs you'd like to perform at the procession and tell me by tomorrow, so that I'd see where to fit them..."
"Of course, my lady," Tylar said. "It won't take me long – I've been at such processions. We were in Lannisport when Lord Lyman Lannister, bless his memory, marched against Maegor, and we gathered at the Rock's gate to sing war songs as his host rode past..."
I hope you haven't forgotten these songs in the thirteen years that passed since then, Alarra thought, but aloud she spoke:
"Thank you, good people. Her Grace will be delighted to know you will help us."
The mummers bowed to her, and, as she turned to leave, started to disperse as well. Already with her back to the troupe, she heard Myribeth turning on Brennan again.
"You were several moments late with the drum!" Myribeth was speaking sharply, and it was clear she'd raise her voice to shouting as soon as Alarra was out of earshot. "Can't you understand it's a pivotal moment, right before the curtain falls? I thought you'd be at least of some use with the music, but it seems you are determined to fail at everything! You fool! Are you hoping to find a better job in King's Landing? Well, there's a surprise for you: hardly anyone would accept you as an apprentice!"
Alarra was torn as she stood on the keep's doorstep. On the one hand, she remembered Alysanne's instructions about not interfering, and since the mummers were answering directly to the queen, she doubted if she even had any authority to do so. On the other, it pained her to see anyone picked on like this. Even Grand Maester Elysar, for all that he was strict and acid-tongued, gave praise to his pupils when praise was due, and when he was scolding them, he gave them a chance to correct their mistakes.
"Mistress Myribeth!" she turned around, making her decision. Myribeth grew silent mid-speech. "I have almost forgotten. Her Grace will be holding another women's court at the end of this week, and you are welcome to join it."
In truth, every woman was welcome to join a women's court – one didn't need an invitation for that. But Myribeth never attended these – of course, she was busy; however, now that Alarra had all but requested her presence there, she would have no choice but to come. Hopefully, at the very least, that would give poor Brennan some respite.
Alaric was feeling both relieved and thrilled. His heart was a great deal lighter after he finally told Alysanne of his love for her; but after that, Alysanne admitted she was fond of him, and not just in a friendly way, and hinted it could grow into something more in the future. The sheer memory of her words was exhilarating.
After they returned to the training yard, they could only spend a short while more with the children before Grand Maester Elysar approached them with a letter in his hand.
"A raven from Harrenhal, Your Grace," he said as he handed it to Alysanne.
"Oh!" Alysanne opened the letter, and as she read it, Alaric could see her face crease with sadness.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Has something happened to Princess Rhaena?" estranged as he knew they were, Alysanne and Rhaena were still sisters.
"No, thankfully, Rhaena's fine, but she writes that Lord Towers has died of a pain in the chest. Poor lad, he was barely seventeen – what's wrong with that place?"
It took Alaric a few seconds to even remember who Lord Towers was. After the Conquest, Harren's castle seemed to change owners as swiftly as a snake shed its skins.
"Rhaena says she'll stay in Harrenhal and take the Towers men – not that there are many of them – into her household," Alysanne continued. "She'll also be traveling to Oldtown in about a moon's turn, once the funeral and the first weeks of mourning are over."
Alaric felt a prick of irritation at the idea of hosting yet another grand lady, but he quickly berated himself for such thoughts. The crown's money was not his to count – it was only by Alysanne's permission that he had the right to watch over the coin at all. He had already seen that diplomacy, to a great extent, involved receiving guests or going on visits, and if it was fitting to welcome Princess Rhaena in the capital, they would do so.
"So when will she be coming here?" he asked.
"Here?.. Oh, of course, you don't know. She has never set foot in the capital since we lost Aerea," Alysanne explained. "She simply notifies us whenever she plans to go to the Reach, so that we wouldn't be alarmed in case we see Dreamfyre flying by," she sighed. "Grand Maester, I will write my reply to the princess today."
"Do you miss Rhaena?" Alaric asked her when she sat down to compose her letter to Harrenhal.
It wasn't a question to be answered easily. Alysanne started to shake her head, but then stopped and thought for a while more.
"I... I miss the way she used to be," she said at last. "She was the very best big sister one could wish for, you know. She was the one who placed Silverwing's egg in my cradle, Mother told me. Rhaena rocked me on her knee, read to me, played with me... How did it come from that to this?" she gestured at Rhaena's letter. "After Aerea died, I saw there was no way to mend things with Rhaena, not anymore."
Alaric moved to comfort her when there was a knock on the door and her stepdaughter's voice asked:
"Alysanne?"
"Yes, Alarra," Alysanne said, slighty dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Come in."
"I talked to Mistress Myribeth and..." Alarra began as she walked into the room. "Oh, hello, Father," she gave Alaric a hug. "Is it an inconvenient time? I can come back later."
"No, it's quite all right," he assured her. "Besides, Alysanne has told me about your plans for the procession," his eyes glimmered, and Alysanne likewise felt her cheeks grow warmer as she recalled what happened after she did so.
"I see, so – well, like I said, I spoke to Mistress Myribeth and she agreed that Tylar, one of her troupe, can sing at Lord Rogar's departure. He really does have a good voice, I've heard him... He'll tell me which songs he has chosen by tomorrow."
"That's excellent," Alysanne smiled. "Thank you so much, my dear."
"There is one thing about Myribeth that bothers me," Alarra added and told her what she had witnessed at the Sunflowers' rehearsals – Myribeth's needless cruelty to her own adopted child.
"I said to her she could attend the next women's court," she finished. "If you could... well... talk to her there? Maybe something's troubling her, and she's just taking it out on Brennan."
"It's possible," Alysanne said. Myribeth had seemed a nice woman at her, but then she hadn't been seeing the Sunflowers as frequently as Alarra did – the girl was clearly delighted with the troupe. Alysanne had already given some thought to the idea of letting the Sunflowers stay at court or at least in King's Landing for good – naturally, if she could be sure they were able to support themselves for a long time without having to move to a different place. "I'll speak with her, Alarra, definitely. We wouldn't want discord among the troupes... Listen, I am dining with Lord and Lady Rosby in an hour – would you like to join too? There'll be your favorite blueberry tarts."
"Oh, Alysanne, I'm sorry – I'm meeting with Heloise and Ermesande, I promised to show them around the Red Keep."
As she left, Alysanne turned to Alaric:
"I fear she takes on too many duties. A chief lady-in-waiting at thirteen... She rarely does something, anything, just for the sake of it and not because it's required. She's not the queen, not a princess, not an heiress of anything, not even the lady of any castle yet... the poor girl deserves some freedom, Alaric."
"Are you suggesting we should send her to Winterfell? She'll be devastated, even if it's only for a visit. She loves Roderick and Edwyn as a sister should, but they've never been close."
"Yes, I know..." Alysanne murmured. "We'll certainly have to think about it. Alarra might be enthusiastic now, but one day she might resent us for forcing so many responsibilities on her at once."
She took her quill and continued writing the letter to Rhaena. She liked to think, of course, that Alarra would never resent her and Alaric for anything, but Rhaena's example showed how once-close family members could grow distant and cold over the years.
"Today, we meet for a sad reason, my lords and ladies. Princess Rhaena has informed me that Lord Maegor Towers is dead," Queen Alysanne announced gravely after the small council bowed in greeting to her and Lord Alaric.
Septon Barth folded his hands and whispered a short prayer for Lord Maegor's soul to reach the seven heavens. He noticed that he was the only one to do or say anything definite – the rest of the council's members were shrugging and mumbling noncommitally. No wonder – Lord Maegor wasn't known personally to anyone, preferring to keep to his tower in Harrenhal in his lifetime.
"Are you planning to attend the funeral, Your Grace?" Barth asked as he ended the prayer.
"I can't travel a lot in my condition, regrettably," Alysanne said. "There is one question that we need to discuss, though, now that poor Lord Towers is no longer with us: who is to have Harrenhal afterwards? My sister has shown no interest in being formally declared its lady, and in any case she is not planning to marry again and doesn't have any living children besides Septa Rhaella."
"I think that we can put the question off – well – in the princess's lifetime," said Florence Fossoway. "With Dreamfyre in the castle, no robber or rogue would dare to settle there."
"So, should we name Princess Rhaena Lady of Harrenhal?" Barth said. "She doesn't care for that, as Her Grace has just said."
"Harrenhal is in the center of the Kingdoms," said Manfryd Redwyne. "We should have someone to properly be its lord, I think. Dreamfyre isn't always there – once a year the princess flies to Oldtown, and then the castle is practically defenceless."
"That thing? It would require ten armies to man it properly," the Grand Maester argued. "Besides, only two towers are any good as living quarters. The rest's in ruins."
There was a brief silence, and then Alaric Stark suddenly said:
"Why can't we tear down Harrenhal and be done with it?"
"Tear... what?" Alysanne stared at him in astonishment. For Barth, too, it felt like a suggestion to demolish the Wall or something of that sort. "You realize how costly it will be?"
"Yes, for sure I do. But it will still be less costly than keeping it around for centuries to come. It's as large as three Winterfells! No emperor would need a castle that huge, so if you try to defend it well, like Lord Redwyne suggests, it will be a waste of money, and if you don't, it's a waste of hundreds of tons of good stone."
"I won't be kicking Rhaena out of Harrenhal," Alysanne said firmly. "If she likes these tons of stone, she will live there."
"Of course, there's no question of making Princess Rhaena leave the place as long as she doesn't want to," Barth said. "But I have to admit, Lord Stark is absolutely right about Harrenhal. If a smaller and easier-to-manage castle is built in its stead, everyone will be better off."
"Destroying a castle? Whoever does that?" Redwyne exclaimed. "Lord Stark, in your own lands, Moat Cailin still stands, even though no one's lived there for ages!"
"Moat Cailin still stands because it serves its purpose," said Lord Alaric. "When it's fully fortified, nobody from the south can get past it – well, on the ground, of course – and unlike Harrenhal, when there is a garrison at Moat Cailin, it's easy to maintain."
"But it will be hard to get people to agree to destroy Harrenhal or do anything else to it," Alysanne said. "They say it's cursed."
"Well, wouldn't they rather to be done with the curse once and for all?"
Alysanne frowned doubtfully:
"I'll ask Rhaena what she thinks of it. Tentatively, of course, I don't ever want her to believe we want to get rid of her home."
Barth understood the meaning her words really held, and he was sure everyone else understood it too. In the end, Florence Fossoway's first suggestion had prevailed – the matter of what to do with Harrenhal was put off until Princess Rhaena's demise. Of course, Alysanne would gently hint at the possibility of building a smaller keep in Harrenhal's place in her letter to her sister, and, of course, Rhaena would pretend not to notice the hint. The former queen hated to be disturbed.