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LEURA
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Candlelight embroiled the dark bedroom, calmly flickering warm shadows across pale walls and lining the many contours of the wooden floor which drank it. It was just the end third; beyond the dividers was gloom. The oblong bathtub was made of lighter slats, lined over the lip with white linen, and as Leura lay in it filled to a hand's width of the top. The water steamed and gently roiled over and around her body, poised as she was a leg up over the side.
Her sylphlike arms held her perch around the stern as much as they cared to. Her long mane was wet and splayed, draping her small but proud shoulders and burgeoning breasts as it fell along her. She had her modest nipples right at the water's surface, absent-mindedly dipping them under, over and over, as her mind contentedly simmered. Her stomach, thankfully tight enough despite her sometimes-alarming appetites, led down to a humble mound between her thighs. Her legs were like a pair of tall Myrish vases, curving beautifully from ample hips. She occasionally rubbed them together and curled them against the edge, even sighing once or twice.
It was a hot bath, hotter than her handmaiden Bylka had told her was healthy, but as minutes or hours had passed, it had drawn close to perfection. Above the bathtub, the servants had hung rolled up sheets filled with variegated flowers and sweet herbs every shade of green. The scents of lavender, lemon balm, rosemary and a half-dozen others steamed down from the ceiling, mixing with the deep woods and the fleshy non-smell of her hand as she wiped her face past her nose. Much sweat came off her, and she reached over to the small table beside her to take a somewhat stumbling drink of her stream water pitcher. She tasted the tangy aroma as she drank and as she breathed. She put it down, then looked over at the end window. Usually she had a window open, as it was now, looking out along the mountain and feeling the cool breeze flow in. Once she even had it set up on the cliff garden, a large balcony off the east wing. She had had the tent-cover on the bathtub and had lain there, looking up through the triangular gap at the stars. She even stood up for a while, absorbing the magnificent view and sheer drop from a precarious perch.
But this time her thoughts were all immersed. The gauntlet came to her in her mind's eye, gleaming as her father recovered it from the stream. Two nights previously to that moment, the Little Bastards had stolen it. Recalling what she had seen and heard of that night, Leura was now picturing them both sprinting and swinging across the walkway from the stairs to the sky parlour, with Cynthia chasing them and a pair of servants looking to cut them off. Twenty minutes later, they were finally caught in the kitchens, to the exasperated fury of her father and poorly stifled smirks of half the castle. Tydren was found hiding in a cupboard, whilst Gabby had somehow fit into a large pot and arranged vegetables on top of herself. The gauntlet was not on them; as they ran past Leura's room ahead of their pursuers, they had tossed it into her hands. Leura later hid it in a nook she created in the little stream under the rear terrace. It converged down the mountain face and came down in the sunken garden just beside the lichyard.
She had needed the gauntlet then for more than just its lustre. If her favoured marriage was not immediately available to him, Father would feel all the pressure to marry her to the Lyddens right away, especially given the interest expressed for Tylebeth Lannister to take her place. She could not let that happen.
It was easy to convince the bastards to do it. They were obsessed with lemon raspberry cakes, which cook Baynard made exceptionally well. For weeks now all but the most plain and economical dishes had been ruled out by her father. She told them she knew where the last ones were hidden, and that if they did not do what she asked, she would eat them herself. They considered it only briefly, then accepted, not pressing her to explain why several-week-old lemon raspberry cakes would be desirable. They will eat anything, Leura reminded herself.
They will steal anything, too, she added. The threat of punishment rarely held them at bay, and Leura was here setting them upon a target. Did they not realise how severely this would anger the others? They were confident, and Leura was oddly reassured by their wanton kleptomaniacal glee; she only worried about their reliability. She could breathe again when she learned they followed the plan; when they were caught empty handed, they told the lord Godrow that they were climbing on the outside of the castle when the gauntlet 'went down mountain.' Father became livid and sent men out to search for it all night.
It was a perverse experience for Leura to glide amongst all the tension through the next day. She had never done anything half as delinquent and audacious as this. She worried spending much time with anyone would jeopardise her secret. After first 'helping' by supervising the Little Bastards in their confined bedchamber and awkwardly pretending to interrogate them for any more details about the previous night, she planned out some activities to keep out of the way and relax into a nonchalant pretence. They also occupied her giddy hands and made the anxious time pass.
The merchant came and went, unable to be persuaded to stay. Leura only learned he had come after he had left – it felt like an anti-climax, after the fuss leading up to that point, and Father was the only one who seemed to remain affected afterwards. He carried a sullen anger around with him. Cynthia did not show up to dinner, and the Little Bastards were confined to their room, so Leura was the only one to sit with father at dinner. Some desultory conversation followed about the meal, Cynthia's absence, Leura's earlier weaving lessons, and how the offending twins were behaving under confinement. When she had foolishly continued in this vein and asked whether the search had yet to turn up the gauntlet, he half-choked on his food and tightly shook his head. He sat back and stared at the end of the room with a mad and scared look in his eyes. She then decided it best to avoid talking altogether.
The day after, when Father had suffered the presumptuous recriminations of the Lannister debt collectors, Leura had gone to the low garden and found the nook in the stream where it tumbled down the middle. She experienced yet more relief when the gauntlet was still there and had not been carried down under the keep and over the edge. Of course not, it is much too heavy. It would be as if the bastards were telling the truth, that it had fallen down the mountain, but not on the side everyone assumed. She shifted the gauntlet to make it more obvious, then later when her father sat there as he normally did, she joined him for a conversation about her marriage to Larris Lydden. It helped that she had legitimate questions, mostly logistical, discussing which helped her work up the courage to interrupt him and point out the gauntlet in innocent surprise. She figured this would make it more convincing, but until she saw his reaction, she was more than a little worried the reveal would provoke his suspicions regardless, as Cynthia's seemed to have been even before the recovery. She had not spoken to Cynthia since the bastards took back the gauntlet but had received foul stares from her at breakfast the next morning. She could not think of anything substantial Cynthia had to implicate her if she wanted to tangle with Leura, but her twin worried her all the same.
In any case, Leura did intend to come clean about it to everyone eventually – probably after her marriage to Ser Maxwell was completed. She had gratifyingly set it in motion with delicate suggestions and plaintive re-strategizing, claiming that there was now no better or more convenient use for the trinket and restating her original case for the match.
As Leura half-expected, her father did not outright rebuke the idea, seemingly already part-way persuaded to her point of view. "But Leura, just tell me, why are you so eager to marry Ser Maxwell? You've never been met, and Lord Madorick despises us! Better you marry into a family of great respect, who have welcomed you before as their ward and of whom you are a great friend!"
What followed was her articulation of her vision, which she performed more naturally and cogently than she had done for Cynthia. The fundamental truth was that her Tallhammer match offered more than the alternative, especially in the long run; the Lyddens may be a rank above the Tallhammers, but the latter is the greatest of Yarwyck's lords and is on the rise, materially, prestigiously and, if Leura has her way, dynastically. She would share inheritance to Heldenstrike Hall, something Larris would be hard-pressed to top as a third son. Leura did feel she could easily re-join house Lydden – thoughts of Tyella and Lord Lewys and all other warm company at the inwardly fantastic Deep Den nearly made her homesick…
But that was the expected path. Reliable. Safe. Leura wanted something unexpected, something that will astound and outmanoeuvre the other nobility, something hers. She had phrased this part differently, understating her plan's risk and emphasising how it could open the possibility of getting Asten back. This was for Father; Leura wanted Asten to return too – she kept many memories of him, more positive than negative – but Asten will do more good at home with Father than accompanying her at Heldenstrike Hall. It was also relevant to Father's, and now as well her own, family quest; she had realised after the Roxburgh room talk that the Tallhammers could also own the land the prospect maps were for, a point Father seemed to have already considered.
His fingers nervously squeezing each other, Father eventually told her to leave him while he reconsidered it, and to hear the final word on the matter at dinner. This was the part in which she had most expected her failure, when the eye of judgement finally turned its brief attention to her and exposed the foolishness of her little game of self-determination before it had ever truly begun.
Everything she did the rest of the day felt weak and fumbling, as it was the day before she left Hollowtop to foster at the Deep Den, or more recently when her perverse nightmares suddenly began. She tried to remain cheerful and considerate, silently cursing the many hours of the day, until she spent half the afternoon before dinner with Lord Caspyan in his office. Some part of her, she later realised, had hoped his furtive charisma would somehow keep the game alive, and she told him about her father reconsidering her match (though not of her shenanigans with the gauntlet). They shared Dornish wine again; this time did not feel quite the same as the first, but Leura appreciated it nevertheless.
The horrible listlessness returned when it was time to leave for dinner; she put on the closest to a confident front as she could so as not to risk swaying anyone any further against her. She gripped her voice steady when she had to speak, whilst silently she prayed to be relieved, one way or the other. Father struck sparks within her again when he announced the change in match. It was generally well-received by all present, with Vordrick Noye making a solemn and respectful toast to her happiness and the family's good fortunes. Leura had not been able to hold a smile off her face until long after dinner. When she considered what it took, she did feel bad that she had put father in a tight situation with the Lannisters but knew they would find some way to sort it out in the end. It may leave some bitterness from the Lannisters but hurt relations can mend, and in any case is a lesser problem than the ones resolved by the match. Her meaning, her mission, her hope, had been returned to her, and she was at the centre of events again. And her excitement only grew as each day passed.
Leura smiled under heavy eyelids. She was conjuring images of a lordly procession arriving at a decorated and buzzing Hollowtop. Streamers of every colour flagging buildings and linking them to garden stands and posts. Banners bearing the heraldry of both houses, hanging boldly about the walls and towers for all to see. All the servants of the house and most of the village with them fussing tirelessly to make and prepare every room, meal, table and costume, the seating of each of the many guests and the facilitating of their burdens. The players gracing the castle with lively and celebratory music. A good deal more coin would have to be loosed from what now dithered in their coffers, but the wedding obviously required it.
She saw Ser Maxwell as a fair young groom, himself subtly arrested at seeing her in her wedding dress. She knew she ought not take him as handsome as she fancied, lest disappointment spoil their meeting, but she had twice heard that he was so from different courtiers and from Caspyan – she struggled to avoid foolish expectations but she did not see why she might contradict them, however moderate their praise. At that moment they would both know what they were in for: her, the strong-mannered and tough-minded knight, who was ultimately respectful and honourable; him, the beauty of early and meteoric renown dressed up to further captivate the reception with the most radiant and inspired gown – her mother's, nigh as white as the day she became Godrow, hemmed and cut to a particular style that Leura and Tyella had become obsessed over when they visited Highgarden. It will be trimmed with short strips of wavy pearlescent shell half-coated in curving gold and silver, the same as her hair decorations. Leura wondered if the gods had conspired for her to wear this dress, given the amazingly unlikely truth that she had the means to make it in this destitute situation.
She already had the shell strips, which Tyella lent her for her last wedding which never happened. They even had holes for attaching – Tyella would not at all mind Leura augmenting her work with molten silver and gold. It would be removed after the wedding anyway, there was no way she could convince father to part with yet more treasure unless it could literally be repaid entirely. For this, she would solicit Maester Oedwyn's assistance, though it seemed simple enough for any smith to accomplish. Leura also retained drawings of the dress design, as if she needed them.
Excitement drew her legs together to her chest, hugging her knees as the weight of what she was doing once again dawned on her. A little under three weeks now… Just a little under three weeks now… She came from a new house, but it was in a good position. House Godrow over its few generations was establishing a tradition of highly prestigious marriages, important for any house but a godsend for new ones. Allegedly, in the times of her grandfather and earlier, other houses would sneer when they were mentioned. Two matches of not-so-distant Lannister heritage in a row, including her Lannett mother, and now it is said to be a mild hum, followed by reluctantly addressing them seriously. What Leura achieved in her life her children could magnify tenfold.
Tenfold… Leura mused. Ten children? Much older houses like the Tyrells or Tullys have all but powdered half of Westeros with their relatives. But any house can chase this end and it does not guarantee their greatness or respect, as the Freys have abjectly demonstrated. Leura almost felt sorry for Cynthia, her having to marry one. It was by no means considered shameful; even great houses were often tied to a Frey, sometimes several. If luck permits Cynthia may even stand to live in a decent castle before long. Gods knew it had to be, she was bound never to leave it in waking awareness.
But to Leura it was a destitute family - no poetry is recited of the Twins, no verses sung of Frey beauty or charisma, no ballads praising their heroic or lovely kin. Father once said of them that they 'competed with themselves to provide the Seven Kingdoms with convenience and irritation.' Who anyway would be fond of having all those spawn but a man? Then an old thought recurred: She imagined all the women doting hopelessly on their babes, and when she could not imagine herself feeling the same way, she felt strange. It will be different when the time comes, she told herself as usual.
The water stretched her out again. She let out a great sigh as her chest unravelled, which felt infused with heady glee that made her feel invulnerable. She didn't feel the bathtub and barely even the water, as thoughts of her magnificent destiny floated her aloft. She pictured the hammer man of house Tallhammer about a vibrant stronghold, flowing rich with eager people and carts filled with ores and jewels of such lustre as can only be found otherwise in the north-west, and with equally beautiful fruits and flowers growing all about. This was many years, though not so many years, in the future when the Tallhammers may succeed their banner lords.
It came down to a thrillingly simple fact – the line of Yarwyck was soon to end. It was perhaps the biggest topic of discussion in all the courts of the west. The elderly Lord did have numerous daughters – nothing so lucky as that, Leura admitted – but they were all married, and none to a plausible successor house. From amongst every other lord and knight stationed in those holdings or even the neighbouring lands, none were a more obvious pick than the lords of Heldenstrike Hall. This was how Leura expected her unexpected match to catapult her astride her father, Lords Lydden and Lefford and all the others.
It is with those other lords that Leura's children will engage, and then her family shall be masters of the South-East, tied by blood to the Godrows and by marriage to the vaunted Serrets and Swyfts – a 'Gold Road' clique. But Leura did not merely desire power – after showing the Westerlands just what a shrewd and resilient family she came from, she saw herself and hers ruling with rare wisdom and justice - the people will prosper, as she had. Leura had always loved stories of the early Targaryens. Good Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys, those were her favourite. Leura and her husband's names will be on the lips of smallfolk and noble alike. They will call her the 'Lady of Gold and Silver', being renowned across Westeros as a remarkable woman married to the great knight Lord Maxwell Tallhammer.
It was fantastically ambitious – who can know one's legacy from such a naïve vantage point? – Leura knew she was ignorant of a million things which should conspire to waylay this idea. But her dream was so captivating, so vivid and impressive, that Leura felt it could not help but draw in others as it had her. If only I can stay in the centre, I can keep the dream alive, she resolved. I'll have to stay awake, too… Leura of all people knew what folly it was when dreams spun outside one's control.
Leura awoke to brightness and distant chirping. In the cool she felt peaceful and heavy. Opening her eyes, she saw the water ever so slightly lap between her chin and the tub, much shallower than before, and her body laid all about above her. Heavens above, Leura thought with some embarrassment. She felt a twinge of humour at the pathetic sight and feel, seeming like the tangle of an unburied corpse; one leg was still perched, and both were parted with knees and toes scrunched against the tub, her bottom arm laid beside her, and top arm bent through a web of hair back to her ear.
After a minute, Leura decided to really get up, and took a deep breath in. She pulled up her head, rounded her shoulders about and tried to wiggle her toes. Her body was unusually stubborn to respond. She thought to call for Bylka, but was too calm to shout, and preferred to do it on her own anyway. After a moment of splashing about, she got the rim underneath her hands, and lifted her clammy limbs out over the edge. She sat up as she dripped, peeled aside some soaked hair, and let her blood reach all ends. She felt amazing. Leura realised she had slept a night without nightmares, which was as exciting as it was inexplicable. She took up the fresh smell of the room and mountain, and decided simply to be grateful for the reprieve, as she thought of what she might do next.
Leura saw her second dresser past the dividers and thought to get dressed. There were no lessons on this day, and she had already missed sept service, but she was on good terms with Septon Barton and he had assured her if she were to get a good night's sleep, she could attend the smaller evening service guiltless. She knew she could spend much more time getting ready and chatting with whomever she got around, but she wanted to talk with father and get some breakfast.
Seeing the pitcher, she leaned over and drank the remainder at the bottom. She then stood up slowly and wandered over past the dresser – beside the small round mirror it only had paltry remaining jewellery, hairbrushes, perfume, and bits; she was headed for her main dressing alcove beside her bed.
She called loudly for her handmaiden Bylka as she moved. Past the foot of her wide and strangely unbedraggled bed, she ducked around a divider which stood about the inside wall and opened up the largest of two chests. Inside were a number of folded gowns over jackets, cloaks, undergarments and other less common pieces. On top were the three gowns she had kept; her resplendent chamomile yellow with the wide brocade sashes across the shoulders – they and the belt were both a red and blue summer floral pattern, the same one as the masonry around the cliff garden, as was the large buckle of white-enamelled steel filigree. Further to that, the yellow had cloth-of-gold saplings along its trim. Keep three, father had told her, to maintain appearances, and maintain appearances she would. One had to be for funerals – that was the black one with the sea green lily pattern under black lace, itself laced together with a couple of silver points. The crimson was her typical look – richly brocaded along the neckline, below the puffed shoulders and down the sleeves with an impossibly intricate gold and sea-green floral pattern on crimson, deep blue and emerald green. With them were her red leather gloves, supple and thin, and her black velvet jacket with the silver links (though no longer the cloth-of-silver shoulder pad tassels). The sight of them always gave Leura a little satisfied smile.
Anxiously announcing her presence from without, Bylka hurriedly shuffled into the room, straight to Leura with linens in her stubby hands.
"There you are, I've been calling you for minutes!" exclaimed Leura, raising an upturned hand of mock disappointment.
Bylka apologised profusely as she threw most of the linens on a chest. She babbled about having everything ready for her as she wrapped Leura under the arms in one. The older woman nearly lacked her thin hazelnut eyebrows, which waved up and down as she recounted seeing Leura asleep peacefully, and how she took some water out of the tub for her safety. So too did the kerchief which was improperly pinned to her head waggle about on the side, revealing her fillet and upbraided hair.
Leura leaned in, showing a benign smirk. Their faces drew close together, and when Bylka looked up the woman trailed off. Her eyes widened and her lips retreated like snails in their shells.
"I was joking," Leura reassured her gently.
Bylka guilelessly and timidly smiled it off.
Leura stroked Bylka's head, reflecting on how well she appreciated the manner of her handmaid. Meek, reliable and inoffensive – that was the ideal for people of her station. Not like the jarring and edgy manner of some of Father's servants. Ser Tarlan Grey was surely the worst instance – noble birth or not, the man was insane, and Leura feared to be in his presence. She plucked the kerchief and tucked it into Bylka's honeycomb-stitched apron.
"I will not make a habit of it, I promise," Leura told her. The towelling was soft but thorough, and they speculated on why Leura felt so well. She also declared she meant to talk to Father.
Bylka told her he left Hollowtop after service and had yet to return. She pulled a white chemise over her lady and they moved over to the dresser for Leura to sit down with another linen wrapping her hair. While it dried, Bylka slipped her stockings and small white leather shoes on, stencil-cut in little mountains and flowers. She then tied them with leather laces.
Bylka had gone back to the chests to get her gown when Leura suddenly decided to stand up and bounce over to the open window; she leaned out and picked an orange pansy from her glorious sill garden. She briefly considered another one from the vibrant length of orange and deep blue, from the yellows and dark reds, but promptly decided the pansy was enough. She pulled away the linen from her hair, which was mostly dry, and shook it loose with her hands. She then lifted her hair over one shoulder and tucked the flower behind her ear.
She met Bylka in the middle of the room to be helped into the white linen gown. Leura had to pull her hair up again as her handmaid tied up the laces at the back. "That will do," Leura said, immediately gliding out to the hallway. She could finish after breakfast.
The hallway was empty and curtained, and distant chattering and twittering could be heard muffled nearly to silence. The great hall abounded with equal quiet. She approached the twins' room, casting a habitual glance in ahead of herself – she saw nothing – and passed briskly. In the great hall she looked down over the gantry, though she already saw through its mountain-shaped gaps there was no one there. She spun around and carefully padded down the dark spiral staircase, skirts lightly brushing along.
Exiting the bottom she found her spot at the top end of the near row of tables, beneath the raised platform where her father had his seat and the rest of the family when entertaining guests or holding an audience. Leura used to imagine it as a throne of a thousand shields, all stacked up the sides and back, and pouring down the platform like the Iron Throne was said to be with swords.
Cook Baynard saw her as she moved and waved from the kitchen door, disappearing back in. Leura took her seat and felt a small pang of worry about the wedding. Guests would soon be on their way, and so much had to be planned. She began to sing 'Milady's Supper' to make herself feel better about what it was all for. Further to that, the satire even reassured her a little bit that she need not make everything too extravagant. Still, thought Leura, looking out the doors into the bright courtyard and thinking of all the tables and streamers and such that would line it. So much needs to be provided, and all will be acquired dearly when put to Father.
Baynard's ponderous form popped back out, and he turned back to hear what someone said to him. "Yes. Watch that," he rumbled. After listening a second more he quickly responded, 'WHAT, MORE TO YOUR TASTE?", booming with a meagre chorus of laughter and jeers. "YOURS?" he repeated, grinning. He then waved the other voice off and swayed on over to greet Leura. His thin cover of hair and stubble were a drab red and his skin was leathery. However, he did not pant or splutter like other fat people, and despite his manner he had friendly laughing eyes which stayed on her own when looking at her more than some others did. He was carrying a cup in one hand. "Good mornin', milady," he said.
"Hello, Baynard," Leura glowed, "I'm for some breakfast, if you will."
"Aye, and I've something special for you this mornin', as it please you."
"Oh?"
He placed the cup of water in front of her.
Leura heard and saw the castellan enter the room with his young page from further down.
"I'll bring it out with ye' porridge in a moment."
"How charming! Thank you, Baynard."
The man casually bowed and lumbered back to the kitchen, regarding the castellan as he went. It was quite irregular for something like this to happen, especially recently – but a gift was a gift, Leura supposed. She took a sip of water.
"My lady," Noye called from half-way across as his page continued ahead, "Do I take this to mean you have slept well?"
"I have, Lord," Leura beamed at him.
"Gods smile on you!" he declared, embracing her in her seat. "I was worried the road to marriage would bring further restlessness to you." He stood back, gently clasping her hand in both of his. "This marriage, especially."
"This marriage? Whatever for?"
"Why, the feud of course. It is enough for a bride to worry about what manner of man she will marry and to organise the event itself without the added concern she might become a hostage."
"Oh, my lord, this is to put all that to rest!" Leura gestured to the seat next to her. "Sit with me a moment." She led the stocky old man behind her to sit down across the corner. She thought for a second, then started, "This feud is in some sense an illusion." She paused to underline her point, and a very concerned frown predictably seized the castellan's face. She went on, "It is like when king Jaehaerys and queen Alysanne went to deal with the faith after the Militant Uprising." Noye was listening and thinking, though it was not clear if he knew the history she was recounting. Surely he would. "Everyone assumed they stood in each other's way, and that yet more gods would need to be tolerated in the Seven Kingdoms as they returned to their old Valyrian worships. But instead they went down and forged relationships with the faith. They hardly needed to convince the High Septon and Hightowers of their new idea, because that institution wanted to join with the crown like everybody else. They were tired of the conflict and knew they were stronger together."
"But my Lady, with utmost respect to your… thoughtful analogy," he smiled obsequiously but genuinely, "and might I say what praiseworthy cultivation you have attended to, but I do not think Lord Madorick has any such honest desire to co-operate with this family. Your Father will tell you very stridently how vitriolic and covetous the man is, even more than most men – Lord Madorick, that is – and with the implicit support of Tywin Lannister through this whole ordeal he no doubt thinks he could get away with worse than he has. You would not bear to hear some of the things we hear regarding your brother from Caspyan Sephare, if the man is to be believed."
"Well Lord or not, he is but one man, and this is the binding of two families we speak of. He will not answer for his crimes, but I think he will put aside his petty resentments under these circumstances." Leura caught the cook in the corner of her eye coming out of the kitchen holding something small in front of him. "This is marriage we're speaking of my Lord. When I am Ser Maxwell's wife, I will be one of his own."
Noye took a deep nervous sigh and squeezed the skin on his neck through his beard.
Why are so many of the elders I have met so fearful for children? Then Leura leant over and held him behind his arm, asking him gently, "Do you not protect your own wife? Her body, and her honour?" Leura smiled to tell him she knew he did.
"My first wife I did not show such dedication," he told her sorrowfully, but with some force.
Oh, good grief. Leura wanted to accuse him of false modesty, even if she had not met his late wife. "Well even if that were true, you have nevertheless shown more dedication than any other man I have known, in all your duties."
Noye smiled and looked down at her. "Thank you, Leura." He put a hand around the back of her head, looked up and patted it. He looked across her and raised an eyebrow, saying, "That looks expensive, Baynard."
Leura was instantly impressed as the cook carefully laid a small plate of colourful somethings with her bowl of equally well-presented porridge. "Good heavens!" she gushed. She realised they were strawberries and figs, the former drizzled with creamy caramel and the latter dusted with icing sugar. They sat on a base of red and black sauce respectively – probably raspberry and blackberry. Her porridge had just a little milk around it and some strawberry jam in the middle – just as Leura liked it.
"'Fraid it can't be helped, milord. Have to practice for the wedding."
Noye looked as if he were about to say something when Leura flashed him a smile and held his hand again.
She looked back and asked what it was; it was as she perceived, though the caramel glaze had an extra layer of candy glaze on top. He noted the pieces matched her family's heraldry, if the figs could be thought of as black.
"I can see that; they're beautiful!" Leura hunched over, studying the figs. Only their top half was dusted; they looked surprisingly like real snowy mountains. The strawberries, on the other hand, had the caramel zig-zagging down them, catching the light. After a moment, she considered suggesting that he could even make it real icing or cream and have them both match the heraldry, but remembered that would not be the most polite. They looked wonderfully artful as is; Leura was almost reluctant to ruin it.
"They may go on cakes, if you're fond of them milady."
He could also have decorated the plate's edge with a pattern of rich custard, perhaps with small chunks of caramel, and the other side with cream inlaid with some little white flowers – Baby's Breath, or some rose petals.
"Oh, yes. I must try these now." She took a spoon to a fig; it was soft, and warm when she put it in her mouth. These figs are far and above any I have ever tasted! Suddenly, Leura felt a touch guilty wondering what effort and treasure was now being spent on her account. She snuffed it out, telling herself it was all for the guests. The wedding had to be remarkable to maintain her family's status and facilitate her rise.
Leura got up and pecked Baynard on the cheek. "This wedding will be a numinous affair, with such good servants to aid me!"
"Thank you, milady. Luminous it will be, we're all assured o' that milady." The man bowed again and left.
As Leura sat back down she heard male activity in the welcoming hall. She inspected the large strawberries closely, appreciating the thick caramel 'gold' veins which must have been painstakingly drawn. Leura knew it was not easy to get consistent or applied in an intricate pattern like this cleanly. When she brought one up to her lips, she ran the tip of her tongue across some veins, which were hard like she expected. She bit the top half…
Mother above, these are good strawberries, so soft amidst the crackly bits – and oh, the caramel goes interestingly with it, quite well!
Leura knew she ought not replace her proper breakfast for these treats, so she moved the plate over and slid across her neat bowl of porridge. Eating both might make her feel ill, and she did not consider it a great loss as porridge done well was delightful. She got a bit of everything on her spoon – not too rich in jam, not too milky – whilst the castellan took up the plate and tried the treats himself. He made little show or noise as he contemplated both. Leura felt at peace as she savoured the gummy and slippery spoonfuls. Noye then nodded and hummed, saying "I think you're quite right, my lady."
"Are they not just so?" Leura harped.
Noye sat for a moment, recalling something. "I have been to many marriages before," he said, leaning in, "but most of them were at Storm's End."
Leura smirked a little.
"Never did I visit Highgarden, my lady. I am sure you attended at least one wedding there."
Leura nodded. In fact, she had had the great fortune of attending several.
"Then you'll need no guidance from me, of course. I am sure the arrangements will be the most pleasant I and many have experienced."
"Oh, I would not mind a story, if there was something particularly scintillating from one?"
Noye's snowy eyebrows bounced up and down uncertainly as he paused. "Sci-" he stumbled, then he said, "Perhaps the Septon has some wedding stories, if you are looking for inspiration."
Oh bother, I just wanted him to come out of his burrow a little.
Then a slight smile softened his gruff expression, "He's seen his share of Reacher weddings, and as such I would say steel yourself for his ranting."
Leura laughed out loud. She knew what Septon Barton was like, never afraid to let someone know his opinion, particularly when it came to what he called 'decadence of the faith and the realm'.
"However fantastic or modest it ends up being, the most important thing is that it be at all times safe, for you and your family."
After a flat reaction, Leura then nodded in tacit agreement. As she sat there, she felt the warmth of the day, and a slight sweat had begun to cling her light gowns to her. She pinched the chemise away from her back, feeling its coolness, and adjusted the chest. She returned to the more interesting topic of their conversation, quipping, "So I will ask the septon about marriages right before the next service, shall I?"
Noye hummed a little chuckle of agreement.
Septon Barton was not against a long and lively feast, and Leura rarely heard him intone the way other clergy did about things everyone seemed unable to avoid doing. He drew the line at religious events and affairs, asserting that vanity was not merely a trivial appendage grown from the customs of the time, but a threat to the couple's commitment to each other and the gods. Mostly, though, she listened to him rail against the clergy. Few others did, and Leura could see why – it was not that nobody shared his sentiments, but he whinged nearly the same words every time – even his official sermons were more freshly repeated. Leura even found it relaxing at times, as she engaged in a craft, and energising when she joined in.
He would not be awfully pleased with this wedding's style either, Leura supposed, but they did not presently have the luxury for such a humble statement. What she had planned was not that far beyond what everyone would be expecting anyway. And this was the appropriate remedy for all the pressure and enmity everyone had been feeling, as feasts and balls were meant to be. It was not like she was the king or a Tyrell, either of whom held feasts, weddings, and tourneys like they were falling through their fingers. At least, that was Leura's meagre reckoning… and Father's, and old Noye's and everyone else's. Leura had asked the Septon if he might someday become High Septon and what he would do if he did. To that he just grumbled and said that he was among the least likely to be selected by the Most Devout; neither would he need to have such ambitions if the others would simply heed his wisdom.
Leura watched a few of her father's knights enter the room, all seemingly talking at once. It was a decent bunch – Sers Malvyn Watcher, lanky and tallest and chattiest, with wild pale brown hair; Randyl Sawler, strong with a simple smile; Bryan Sylvas with thick black hair and quiet Lothor Verriand with the curious eyes. Ser Malvyn rambled something louder than the others that Leura could not quite make out, and when the others paused Ser Bryan said with a smile, "But you can't catch it," to which everyone laughed. In their circle at the corner of the room they continued chatting.
"Good morning, Sers!" Leura called out to them, waving daintily.
It took a half-second for them all to notice, but when they saw her they became eager, replying with scattered 'good morning's and quickly dipped heads for their lady and the lord castellan. They all fell quiet and smiled amongst each other as they faced her.
"You have been out with my father this morning, I take it?"
Ser Bryan spoke up tardily, "Yes, my lady." He had quite pleasant deep brown eyes that twinkled with laughter.
Leura asked, "Did anything exciting engage you whilst out and about?"
This made their smiles grow further. After a momentary lull, Ser Bryan shook his head and began to speak, "I am afrai-"
He was interrupted by Ser Malvyn climbing on top of him with his voice, holding his hands out wide as he cried, "My lady- My young lady!"
Ser Randyl looked more embarrassed than amused and put a hand on Malvyn's shoulder.
Malvyn continued, "I regret to inform my lady that this excursion was completely boring. So pathetically boring was it, that it would be a crime to recount the morose features of its mundanity in such engaging company as your ladyship's."
Leura was taken aback but tickled by this. She looked over to the castellan to see his response, but he seemed to not pay attention. Today seems to be a comfortable day for strident words.
Leura leaned over and rested her chin on her palms, saying breathily, "Well I want to know what knights do, regardless."
"Well then," Malvyn chortled, looking around at his comrades as he figured out what to say next. They seemed as unsure where to look as how to answer, and on Ser Bryan and Lothor's faces Leura thought she saw a hint of sadness. "We could fetch some prisoners; I am sure they would not mind helping with a demonstration."
"Come over here and tell me about this morning," Leura said, beckoning with her finger and a warm smile.
The men hesitantly began to wander over along the edge of the room where the castellan had approached, when Leura's father walked in ahead of more knights. She sat up back in her chair. He always seemed to Leura taller than the guards who stood above him. He was dark from the sun and sweat in his riding clothes.
The knights walking to her stopped to acknowledge him, then promptly continued when he started towards her table. Leura could faintly hear his strong breathing from across the room.
"My lord," Noye addressed him, "No trouble on the road?"
"Plenty," he huffed, without explaining further. "The poaching reports were wrong, it's a die-off."
"At least that resolves the animosity between Cerysford and Tussock."
Father shook his head darkly, saying "It is impossible with these Reacher lords…"
The group of knights approached near Leura.
"At least our own house is in order."
"It is not okay," Father said with his great and all-too-usual strain, looking about, "we need those Citadel reports presently."
"Good morning, Father," Leura found a pause to say politely.
He looked at her and said, "Good morning, Leura." He then came around, glancing at her food, and he kissed her on the top of the head, massaging her shoulder very briefly.
"And more demanded…" Noye grumbled at a guess.
Lord Harold squeezed his eyes with his fingers. "A dispute off the road," he recounted in a thinner voice.
Noye made another grumbling sound and said, "May it have been brief."
"Nearly an hour…"
Noye made a 'tsk' sound, sounding appalled.
Leura asked, "What was it about?"
Her father quivered a little, as he did when he was flustered, and barely shot a glance at her. He pointed with his free hand at her bowl and asked, "When you have finished eating, I would talk to you in my office."
Leura looked up at him already about to leave and her voice caught for an instant on the back of her throat. "Oh," she said, and he stared back down at her, putting her on the spot. What was his thing about? "I actually wanted to talk to you as well." I cannot see how I would be in trouble.
"Finish it quickly," he instructed, pointing again as he departed.
"Ho Father, look at this…" Leura leaned forward and pointed to the plate of treats, "…marvellous creation."
Lord Harold stopped and turned around, slowly wandering back as he appraised them. His eyes darted to the castellan as he leant over and picked the spoon up. He chose a small fig and split it, adding a little black sauce, then put it in his mouth.
Leura remembered she needed to finish her porridge and took up a big spoonful as she kept an eye on her father.
Almost immediately he made a little 'Mmm' in approval and tipped his head. "We've good cooks still; the more they can do with less, the better."
Then Noye spoke slowly and softly, saying to his liege, "I think we ought to keep a weather eye on that kitchen these next three weeks."
Another short and serious hum came from Father, who squeezed his moustache.
Noye looked around at the group of knights and asked, "Should I station a man by the pantry perhaps?"
Leura saw smiles re-emerge on the knights, as no response came from Father. She glanced back – Father eyed them tardily, almost as if they had said nothing. Hands went up, almost at once. Leura could sense the whole situation in its comical tension whilst grinning down at her porridge.
Then she came up with something; she forced the biggest mouthful yet down her throat, something porridge not only allowed but made strenuously pleasurable, sat up and declared, "I am in charge of this affair, this is of the wedding! It shall be…!" She held a hand on the back of her head and one up ready to point. Ser Malvyn immediately stood upright with his armoured fists on his hips and puffed his chest out, and Sers Bryan and Verriand copied him mildly. Leura felt a little excitement as they looked her in the eye, eager to know her choice – though Ser Randyl made an amusing point of his unconcerned smile. In the corner of her eye, she saw Father sauntering off down the hall to the spiral staircase. After perhaps too short a contemplation she picked, "Ser Bryan!"
He briefly opened his stance, showing off to his boisterous companions, then did a quick formal bow to Leura, who clamoured to change her pick, "No, Ser Verriand!" This elicited some notes of scandal from the commotion, raised eyebrows from the rangy knight then a smug smile to the others, all of which made Leura giggle delightedly.
She stretched up into a yawn, tugging her clinging gowns from her shoulder and rolling both. She saw the bowl and, one hand in her lap, scraped up the last spoonful and had it. As she chewed, she pulled a couple moist locks of hair out behind her in each hand, remembering the flower precariously nestled behind her ear, and slumped back over her chair easily. She swallowed, then heaved herself into a more graceful posture, stood up and gave Noye a kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, Lord Castellan!" she cheeped gaily, bouncing around him.
"Good day, my lady," he said more sensibly, turning his head slowly.
She stopped and spun back around to the knights. Some looked to be approaching a conversation with the castellan, and Baynard had emerged from the kitchen again. "Goodbye, knights!"
They returned their attention to her and gave little waves and smiles and 'Goodbye, my lady's.
She spun back around and followed on to the staircase, which Father had just disappeared into. To let him know she was coming, she sang out lustily a reworded version of the bedding song, "AND THE QUEEEEEEEN PUT ON HER SANDAAAAAAL…!" She got a few more paces, and he still had not appeared back out. She continued, softer, with mock surprise, "And the king took off!"
He then appeared and gave Leura a look. She felt too good to shrink, but she did button up with a sheepish grin. He started up the steps and she followed beside him. "Leura," he grumbled quietly to her, "No more carrying on like that. You are getting married."
The words made Leura think; her first idea was to dispute it, but she had obviously been acting more exuberant than usual. She realised her behaviour could be considered improper, and she felt embarrassment coil around her. "Sorry, Father," she answered mousily. A few more paces passed in silence. "I was… just excited – I got a good night's sleep."
"Yes, I figured." He looked across at her for a moment. "That is good news, Leura. I am glad to hear that."
"So," she began to ask, "What was the dispute about? On the road?"
Her father sucked in air and shook his head. Perhaps I should not have asked, she thought. She looked over at his face as they slowed down– it was cringing, with a finger on his temple and forehead, but with a hint of a smile.
He looked at her and explained, "It was in the woods about a quarter of an hour from Cerysford Keep; We hear at least three men in bilious shouting." They stopped at an arrow-slit as Father continued, "We find one of them wielding a wood axe in his breeches demanding the other come down from the branch he is perched on. There are cut marks on the trunk. There with them are the bailiff and sergeant, only the sergeant had been stung by a wasp, and both were arguing with the bailiff."
Leura was at a loss for words and rubbing her own temple now.
"They hardly registered our arrival. See, the man with the axe accused the other man of stealing twigs from his land; the man in the tree insisted the twigs were put there by a neighbour clearing his fields, so it was not stealing, and that the man was drunk and trying to kill him." Father paused, expecting a reaction from Leura.
"W-What happened next?"
"I asked the man why he had the axe and he insisted he was not drunk or trying to kill him, that he just wanted his twigs back. But Leura," Father leaned in closer, gesturing with an open hand, "He then added that he 'just wanted to hit him a few times, maybe with the spurs.'"
"What?"
"Then the bailiff tried to arrest the axe man, and they wrestled, so my men tried to break it up. As he's being dragged away, the tree man vulgarly insulted and gloated to him, so he broke free and tried to climb the tree."
Leura was agape.
"Everyone was hollering, the tree man was throwing twigs and acorns at him, and even when my men got him down, he struggled out and started chopping at the trunk again."
"… Was anyone charged?"
Father crossed his arms and looked out the arrow slit with thin lips. "What laws were broken here, Leura?"
She thought for a second, sure it was a trick question, but unsure what manner of trick it could be. "The axe man I suppose did not swing at anyone," she started slowly. "Was he drunk?"
"We smelled nothing."
She felt awkward taking the case seriously. "If the stolen property was not the axe man's property… He said it came from a neighbour?"
"He denied having placed them on the axe man's land."
"One might have spoken to the neighbour?"
"And if he had denied clearing any twigs or seeing tree man on his land?"
"Umm… Some confederates might have been employed to move the twigs…"
Father pressed his palm into his forehead. "Is this investigation worth it all? For some twigs? At the height of summer?"
Leura felt foolish. "I suppose not," she acknowledged.
"I try to learn from my experiences as a leader," he said half-earnestly. "What can we learn here, Leura?"
She had nothing and could only shrug.
He looked out the arrow slit again, contemplatively. After a while, he simply said, "Stay on the roads, I suppose."
Leura let out a quiet smirk.
He looked back at her smiling and did so himself. He held the side of her face gently and brushed his thumb by her cheek. "My pretty daughter..." he said, brushing some hair behind the flower. He turned her aside into the kind of hug he always used to do, standing behind and firmly grasping her wrists besides her shoulders, resting his chin over her head. "Who does this Ser Maxwell think he is, coming to steal my girl?" She had grown taller in recent years, but he still covered most of her head. She liked him swaying her gently side-to-side, puppetting her body this way and that.
"The whole world seems to work through stealing…" Leura mused, then remembered what she had done and worried she might be saying too much. "It moves things forward," she explained curtly. She felt a short 'hmm' on her head with a flat, indecipherable tone.
Through the arrow slit they could see the bottom half of the garden, near them an orderly rectangle of paths, plants and pottery, and on the far side open space in front of the 'dragon cave'. In the cave and coming out from further left were rooms and buildings to support the household and guests, flanked by a paved avenue with some ivy-strewn arches and shades.
"Imagine, Father," Leura murmured. "Imagine all the people in their radiant attire, all the streamers and lavish tables of food, laughing, singing…" She stuck her nose into the arrow slit, eyeing the deep, dusty mortar and bricks. "This is all Cynthia will see of it," she quipped blithely.
"She will be involved," Father assured her softly.
A bead of sweat ran down her spine and sacrum, making her buttocks tense a little. She was suddenly aware of her nearly slender body and the gowns hanging cooly from it.
"It will be your day, Leura. Not like a nameday, with family and household; the greatest lords and knights of the West are coming to see you, and your groom. This wedding will be the talk of every court. This is the opportunity to show our noble splendour, and you are the key figure to determine that."
I can do it, she thought in a heady state. She turned out and looked back up at him. She recognised that her life and nature knew more of this event than her father could. She blissfully acknowledged, "I was born to do this."
"…That's right," he simply said.
"I know we're going through some challenging deprivations right now, but we can still make this one of the greatest, Father. I can see it in my mind.
"Then let us go work to make it so."
She beamed as a wave of appreciation for her father came over her. She felt so good to have him with her, not fighting but sharing affection and working together. She loved looking at his eyes and imposing features without anxiety – she felt like she could do anything with him.
Leura launched a kiss on her father as he turned, getting him on the moustache with a half-hug across the chest. They tread leisurely up the rest of the staircase, talking.
"The flower looks quite nice," Father remarked.
"Do you like it? Perhaps I will incorporate it to my wedding dress," she replied confidently. Another bead of sweat shot to her sacrum, faster, distracting her with its clinging and soaking.
"Now do you want to do anything with your mother's dress?"
Here we go again. "Yes, I mean to modify it in a Highgarden style. Only scissors and needles needed. It shan't be too drastic, fear not."
"And what is this design?" he asked as they exited back into the hall.
"Oh," she paused to contemplate how to describe it simply and without jargon. "It is more intricate, and a little shorter at top and bottom, but heavier – I have taken their motif and organised it around tall triangles on the sides," Leura made 'V's with her fingers below her hips. "Mountains."
"And this motif?"
"It is a flor-"
"Floral pattern…" he realised, nodding. "No surprise there."
Leura said nothing.
"I suppose you are my flower, after all." They approached the door to Father's office, benches on either side.
"What will you wear?"
"My deep red coat. Probably with the mahogany pants and tall boots."
No surprise here either.
He produced a key and found the lock. "You do not approve?"
Her voice caught again. "…It is a good outfit, but… perhaps it is a bit plain? Perhaps we could add some decorations?"
"I would not know where to begin with that," he said, opening the door. Inside the smallish room was a wide table on a black and red chequered rug with a chair on either side. Two tallish windows illuminated the room from either side at the end. Below a plain seven-pointed star hung a coat-of-arms tapestry, and below that a mantelpiece with antlers and spears crossing the back. Tall bookcases, with which Leura was intimately familiar, led up to the left window, and artworks and interesting family pieces stood above the chairs and small table on the right.
"You would need to do a good search," Leura said as they headed for their seats. "I found some pieces from the Deep Den recently, Tyella lent them to me, and they're the other big thing in my wedding outfit." They both sat down.
"Oh?"
Leura relaxed to the side as she spoke with her fingers, "They are small rectangles of glimmering seashell, about this long; I have dozens of them. They will go along the trim of my dress, in my hair and ears. But to really make them stand out, they will be coated in gold and silver like-"
"Excuse me?"
"I was thinking if we coated parts of them with a little bit of gold and sil-"
"WE CAN NOT AFFORD IT, LEURA!" he screamed, utterly startling her and making her jump. He glared at her for a long moment as she sat stooped over, stunned and confused.
"I-… Ju-…" she stuttered, trying to get out her well-thought-out justifications. Father shook his head and looked out the window.
"I will hear no more on the matter."
Just like that? Leura could not believe the turn the conversation had taken.
Father slowly got up and moved over to the nearest bookshelf as he spoke, "Now besides discussing wedding affairs, I need to tell you of the recent meeting between Yarwyck's vassals at his hall." He searched for a particular tome as Leura still quivered. We have not discussed wedding affairs, and if we do, I-… I thought I was in charge of it!? He found it, pulled it out and opened it collectedly as he returned to his seat. When he sat down, he looked up at Leura and glared again. "Leura," he warned, growling.
He just expects me to follow him, as always. She tried to raise her head and eyes, and as she held from responding the dread grew in her. How could I not? Going back to the topic like she meant to almost certainly meant her doom.
He stood up and began to storm off, when Leura finally managed to make eye contact and quickly gasp out, "All the metal can be returned, Father," and he stopped with a furious look. "The maester said he can remove it, it won't cost us a thing!"
The look on his face was terrifying. "I SAID-!" he began to bellow, as Leura insisted with tears breaking out,
"This is my wedding and it's a perfect thing that you said we needed to do!"
"I did not say anything about this!"
"You agreed we needed to use what we had the best way possible, well this is what we have, and it will not cost anything!" Leura felt like she had committed an unprecedented disrespect, or she had broken through a layer of her father she could always have done. Anything could happen now. Leura prayed he would recognise her honest reasoning as she watched him set the book down on the table next to her and loom beside her.
"Do you understand that we have missed an enormous sum, most of which is likely to be paying for this wedding, and we need to make the next one at the same time?"
"I am not asking for any more."
"No, you did not ask, you just assumed. Like you assume that this metalcraft experiment will be perfectly reversable."
Leura was at a loss for words.
"I will allow you to use some for only the head decorations."
Part of Leura was amazed that her father compromised, and glad the idea would still be made, but part was disappointed and still wondering what on earth she was going to do for the body. Her voice on the verge of sobbing, all she could manage was some short nodding.
"Now, on to the matter," he declared, opening the book back up to the right page. It had heraldry and family lines – wonderful. Father wound his way back to his seat and explained, "The meeting at Yarwyck Hall was to discuss their succession and inheritance, for every claimant to put forth his or her arguments. The Lord Yarwyck and the laws of the realm are the arbiters of this, but the Lord Paramount has the responsibility of mediating and right to veto. As such, Ser Kevan Lannister was sent as a representative – that is Lord Tywin's brother. Only the meeting was called off before everyone could arrive, because Yarwyck fell ill." Her Lord father pointed to the book in front of her. "I want you to study the families involved and familiarise yourself with the different claims that could be made. I want you to list their strengths and weaknesses. If Lord Portar passes before any progress can be made, it will be up to the Lannisters, but regardless, and especially if Tallhammer inherits, you will need to be aware of the points of contention your new family and possessions will have with others."
"Okay…" Leura had calmed down a little by now. "Although it is a given Tallhammer will inherit, is it not?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Father, I have many times explained why they-, it has to be them," she ventured carefully.
"You have thought of a number of material statuses," he rebutted condescendingly, "But Leura, lineage is the most important factor in determining inheritance in noble families."
"The Tallhammers have lineage. Ser Maxwell's grandmother was a Yarwyck, and she was the first daughter – and if Tywin Lannister gets to decide, surely then lands and wealth will matter more?"
He shot her a mild look. After a moment he calmly explained, "If the Lord Paramount performs Yarwyck's role, he will be constrained by inheritance laws and conventions. If, in the final consideration, the few most prominent cases are too similar to determine, then yes, of course Lannister's preference would play a factor. If he finds an opportunity to press his finger against the scales, he absolutely will. But it is not easy to tamper with these scales."
Leura was getting flustered. Some part of her wished he had brought this up before everything she had done to ensure this marriage. Another part of her dismissed it as out-of-touch, maybe even just an excuse for further lessons. "Well," she reminded him, "the Tallhammers have both, do they not?"
"No, theirs is a far-flung connection. It is much more likely to go to immediate family."
"Like who?" Leura called, exasperated.
"I think his daughter Tilly and her husband Ser Sandhurst have a good chance."
Sandhurst!
"Father, that's ridiculous!"
Her father showed a concerned frown. Now I have done it again, she thought. He spoke to her seriously, with a hint of upset, "Do you know what is going to happen? When you are taken away by these people?"
Leura said nothing, taking a deep breath in as she poised in her seat.
"You will meet Lord Madorick soon," Father started, standing up and facing the left window with his hands behind his back. "You will see a man sourer than any other, a man who will not greet you – you, the bride." He began to pace between the window and chair, his voice lowering. "A 'yellow-haired mongrel'. That is what he called your mother, when we went over to meet the new Lord of Heldenstrike Hall."
Leura realised he was talking about the wedding at Yarwyck Hall, five years ago, when Asten was kidnapped. Father rarely told this story, and each new detail appalled her more than the last.
"The new Lord Tallhammer was held in high regard by the Yarwyck court; all of them in the Southron clique, Serrett lackeys who could not stand his predecessor's association with us. With Lord Brendan having been so amiable and similar, we expected probably a less well-matched successor… but nothing of the catastrophe that was. We attended with the hope to talk about settling the land dispute, but before we even got to that, he was insulting Asten at our side," Father leaned over the table with both hands, speaking intensely, "an 'ugly spotted tick clutching to his mother'. In front of every guest and household member awkwardly watching, he called this family a 'pack of thieves' and demanded I return all the lands originally granted his ancestors. He even accused me of setting outlaws on his lands, for the first time." He returned to the window. "I went to Lord Portar and demanded an apology. He hesitated and prevaricated." Her father brooded for a moment. "He did not want to admonish his new partner. So we immediately left to come home."
He was staring out the window, hands gripping either corner of the sill. Leura wondered if the stone would remain unmarked by such tension. Though he stood in the light, there was a darkness in his face. His voice was at its greatest depth, near a whisper, as the most awful part came. "On our journey we crossed Tallhammer lands. We did not have to, but it was the most direct route. I had spent the whole trip remembering his words, over and over, trying to wrap my head around what had happened. We had heard the stories, we had met the man, but it had not dawned on us…. what possessed him…" For a moment Father pressed his lips thin, chin tense. "Your mother was talking about something. I heard bodies crumpling, grunting… I interrupted her. Held her down, looking about as cries came out. If Asten was scared, he did not say anything, only looked about."
Leura was enraptured, having not heard this much about it from him before.
"Two of the injured men died. They held the rest of us up, disarmed us, sat us down away from the road. Lord Madorick had stalked us." Father sounded drained. "He said no words, he just came up, knocked out your brother with a club and carried him away."
Leura sat breathing with her father in silence for a while. So, her husband-to-be's father truly was terrible, she thought. She realised she would be on the edge of danger, being anywhere near him. In fact, she would need something very powerful to deter him from all but the pettiest villainy. Like marriage, of course. "I take your point, Father, about my bride's uncle. But Ser Maxwell is a good man, he will protect me, and no others are said to share in this madness or hatred."
"Ser Maxwell!" Father cried back at her, coming back over to the table. "What do we know about Ser Maxwell?" He counted on his fingers, "He likes to fight; He likes to hunt." He slumped back down, saying sarcastically, "To be sure, you are marrying a king amongst men."
Leura pouted, rubbing her thumb on the table.
"I am sorry, Leura. You made sound arguments for this marriage, and obviously I endorse them. If we have made the right choice, the gods will surely tell soon." He leaned in to tell her, "But do not believe that you will experience any better treatment in that family, if that is why you wanted this. In fact, it will likely be far worse."
She looked away and he sat back. Leura suddenly did not feel very excited about getting married or her wedding, to her alarm. She pushed it aside, telling herself it was just her father's excessive scepticism again. He is just trying to protect me, she thought. Or was he just plain wrong, she wondered. It always came back to him, everything. When her dreams were dashed, it was always on his word. What is his idea of an impressive groom? Weedy Werris? She had concluded that her father did not have a better understanding of who Ser Maxwell was than she did. But doubt now niggled away at her. She pulled a knee up on her chest, leaning but upright, scowling in her father's general direction.
Perhaps he is unable to let me go? Although, earlier he seemed not too much more distressed at the thought of her leaving than she did. On the other hand, they both seemed to naturally appreciate each other a great deal in conversation, and for all his harshness and displeasure, it only seemed to come out when Leura did something questionable. Just as often came his affection for something proper or impressive she had done. Have all these ideas of escaping been foolish?
She looked aside again, bringing both her legs up and over the rail, sitting sideways as was strangely comfortable. It was a bit more breezey, save the parts that still touched the chair, which burned damply. It is only natural, she continued to think, that he would criticise her ideas to leave him harshest. If these were his worst points, could she really consider him a bad father? Leura was reassured by him wanting her to stay yet letting her go anyway.
The marriage is a big chance, Leura was increasingly realising, but it must be taken. She was to marry someday, and like Father said, the arguments for this one were sound. All there was now was to organise the most impressive wedding, and steel herself not to be hurt as she figures out what manner of people her new family will be. She had to remember the great potential she had envisioned, but also stay humble - on her own, she could never realise it.
Father calmly busied about with some scrolls and a large ledger, occasionally asking Leura questions about the wedding's mundane details. She spied him as he worked. He showed a natural grace in reading and writing that belied his stockiness and ranging spirit. She occasionally stretched out, and at some point, she heard no more questions as her father contentedly paged and scribbled away. Warm thoughts of the wedding danced about in her imagination as she dozed.
A good while later, she heard Father faintly talking about guests and preparations to host them before the wedding.
'Mmm-hmm,' she hummed, affirming a question. "Yes, they're coming," she mumbled when prompted. All she needed was to know things about people and parties and homes, and he took all the action. She enjoyed remembering him holding her on the steps, moving her smaller body this way and that. Now her body tingled as they were dancing with each other like that, and she imagined all her friends – Sophie, Tyella and everyone else - coming to watch them in awe and jealousy. Some part of Leura recognised that when her friends all complained that their fathers only wanted to dance with her, the dream had taken a weird and worrying turn, but her body felt such intense glee that she would not stop.
Leura suddenly woke up in a stupor, Father standing tall before her between her chair and the bookshelf, staring down at her on the verge of anger. She stared back with wide, slightly frightened eyes.
"Yes, Father," she earnestly obeyed, though what she was obeying, she had no idea. Did he even say anything? Sweat ran down her womanhood and buttocks. Lots of sweat. He gave her a strange look.
"They will be here any moment from now, you need to finish putting your clothes on and get ready." He went and turned to the shelves, looking to place a book.
Such nice sweat, flowing and seeping… That part of her body and abdomen were heaving shortly and sharply.
"I am going to sort out some quick business with the castellan then get changed, and I expect you to be ready and out the front by then."
Sweat hugged her and encased her. She smelled and saw her gown, being mostly moist over the soaked chemise. "Yes, Father," she droned.
He found the spot and slid the book in with a satisfying sound. He turned around and checked to see if Leura was moving.
She was stuck in a daze.
"Leura!" he warned, holding up a finger.
"Y-yes…" was all she got out, as she tried to comply.
It took too long for her to get a knee off the chair. He started marching over to her, "If I have to-,"
"I'll change myself, Father…!"
"…What?"
"I promise, I will get clothes on soon, I will do it," she assured him, becoming more lucid as she sat up. "… I just thought I would stay a while. Study this book."
Shortly hesitating, he said, "You will need to be down there ready in time." He turned and strode out the door. She stared down into space as her thoughts bounced between getting ready, what had just happened, Father's story about Madorick and about her relatives, the Troyce family. There was a lot to thin-,
"Leura!" he snapped a half-second later from the door, making her jump.
She looked back, anxiously.
"YOU DO NOT HAVE TIME!" he barked, scaring her again, then stormed off.
A scowl sat on her face for a while, as she stared at the doorway and did nothing. She sat and ruminated on how her father incensed her with his pig-headedness. Eventually, she glanced over her father's stupid book and knew for sure she did not want to read it. Nevertheless, a small part of her realised that it was probably a good idea. She might try it later when she is feeling different, but right then she could not stand the thought of anything her father wanted.
She sat in the quiet room for a time. Only birds twittering and the faint sounds of sparse labouring drew upon the end windows. A pair of small footsteps echoed from the bottom of the hall. I am alone in Father's office again, after everything. Now she knew how the Little Bastards must feel regularly, she thought. She rose and wandered about her father's desk, turning parchments to read a sentence or two, rolling the different penknives about, skirting the strikingly shaped inkpot with the magnificent red feather quill mounted on the side. She smelled everything. His seat was beautifully wood panelled – a mahogany base with the back a large rectangle fresco of a dozen brightly-coloured woods carved in small round 'nuggets'. It was next to go, and only survived so long for its gentle and mysterious blessing on Father's back.
She sat down in the warm office-throne; it felt gratifying and a little powerful. After a moment, Leura picked up the fancy inkpot, and studied it as she twirled and turned it in her hand. She carefully squeezed the lid off and inspected inside. It was empty, with red stains, and Leura spied another three horns with darker shades protruding from holes along the middle of the desk. She left it in her lap, rubbing her thumb on the little dots as she stared out the window to the back of the garden. She played with design ideas, and new decorations and arrangements started coming to her.
In her mind's eye once again, she saw her wedding, with all the beautifully dressed people, and all the sumptuous tables of food and wine, gleaming in the dying sun as the people cheered amidst the lively music. The stuff of poems, it was. Always the stuff of poems. And her father standing there. Barking, he was. Always barking. In her mind's eye, he was gradually spoiling the whole thing. She and others seemed to understand what he was saying, but she recognised no sound or meaning, only his urgency and anger. The whole situation seemed to have drawn his ire – she knew that when he was like this he was soon to explode – and worried for her guests. The few near him were confused at first, some asked innocent questions, then they chastened themselves of whatever joy they were expressing. No! What are you doing, Father?! He turned and shouted something at her, shooting a pointed finger. It stopped her, and instantly she felt immense frustration. She wondered why she had this absurd figure in her dreams – why was he like this?
He was going on to others, and Leura felt tears well up as her magical wedding was being broken up. So many people were at the wedding, but more people were noticing him; He is going to ruin everything! She wanted to go plead to Father, but she felt ill; the goblet was heavy between her fingers and her legs were wobbling to the ground. Two guests, a man and a woman she thought she had seen in the Reach, were right behind where she then collapsed. They were startled and stooped over, nervously asking if she was hurt. She knew if she passed out, the wedding would be surely ruined, and despaired. Then two great lords who she did not recognise hurried them aside and knelt over her. One was wearing Lefford colours and one Yarwyck, and they had their people behind them. Leura was trying to tell them of her father, babbling and pointing with tears.
Now they were calming her down, saying it was just a man, and nobody liked him spoiling the wedding – they could go deal with him together. She was whimpering, saying she cannot, saying she should not, saying she was a woman. They fussed over the goblet, which she was almost spilling, all crying at her to hold it strongly and upright, which she tried her best to do.
When she more or less stabilised it, they showered encouragement, urging her to stand up. She looked back at her father, who banged his fist through a table alarmingly and barked at everyone on it. There were several figures with Tallhammer motifs in their clothes, and by them one wearing the Godrow coat. The faceless figure had her brother's hair, though he was taller like her faceless bride sitting next to him. Some of them started calling some things back at Father.
She felt timid, but knew he had to be stopped. She crawled along for a bit, then stumbled up, the lords' hands on her shoulders and back gently encouraging her. Then the downcast guests her father had dispirited got up, as if to come and stop the rest of them, but Leura knew they would not, and as soon as they got within striking distance of the rest of the guests, they turned and joined her.
As she approached her father, everyone chanting and calling at Father haphazardly, he was yelling only at her, apoplectically like she was making it all happen. As she approached him, the shouting and cheering reached a fever pitch, jeers and opprobrium, encouragement and sarcasm, her guests and bride and brother all at her aid.
She was lifted onto a table as two men held her father's arms. They were now but a foot apart. His face was the scariest she had ever seen it, the most twisted exaggerated mess, but his bellowing and screaming had wheeled into seeming absurd, blaring and spitting against her gown.
Barking.
Bellowing.
Screaming.
Barking.
Bellowing.
Screaming.
She launched the wine right in his face.