Chapter Thirty Six: Seeing Clearly.
Twelth Day of the Eleventh Month, 114 AC.
Nessa
Flight was certainly not what she had imagined.
Singers said surprisingly little as to how much cooler the air became when one flew above a certain height.
Or the glare of the sun and the strain of the wind on one's eyes.
Then again, singers likely knew little of singers.
Hmm… I fear that I might be taking on my prince's distaste.
If nothing else, she found herself very much grateful for the Archmaester's notion of outfitting them with the contraptions they wore.
'Goggles', their prince called them. They were rather akin to the Myrish lenses which allowed her to see more clearly.
While quite a silly shape, they were certainly useful.
As a matter of fact, she would indeed say that she would not be able to see the Arbor below so clearly.
The selfsame named port of the Golden Isle showed quite to advantage from above.
Orchards, vineyards and other such facilities stretched out from the town and sea in long swirls and blocks. It was disorderly to be sure but in an artful fashion that quite coincidentally resembled a grassy shipwreck of grand scale.
The mast in that metaphor being the six main towers which arose from between seven keeps of the House Redwyne at the heart of their grand castle. Each keep sloping downwards towards the land.
The total structure was dubbed the Vine Keep, for the network of curving stairs, chain bridges and vines which joined each tower.
What a titanic waste of funds, she liked to think that her mother would have chased the original architect with a ladle for the excessiveness of the construct.
The colossal bulk of Vhagar shifted as the dragon's wings and fell into a descending angle. She heard awkward laughing from the others around the long harness of rope, leather and chain which ran along the dragon's frame.
If the beast was at all bothered by carrying so many (to say nothing of the crates, chests and sacks which hung in her belly-netting), she made no indication…
Which was more than could be said for Clearsky, whom was flapping her wings rapidly with an expression of profound annoyance as she struggled with the weight of Ser Ebermen and her Prince.
'Expression' was mayhaps the wrong word, dragons did not have seem to have much on the capacity to change expression. Their movements and eyes were rather expressive in her own opinion.
Well, she mused. I do suppose that the blood shows after all.
As the land below grew more larger and more defined, she could see the standards and tabards of the men below.
Red grapes on blue and grey stone on white.
The Lord Lymon had brought his entire court with him to call on the Lord of the Arbor.
I will have to ensure that Hylde did not forget anything of note. She reminded herself, if they were to spend a fortnight in the Arbor it would not due to have insufficient resources.
With a dancer's grace, Vhagar landed a single foot before almost bowing forward so as to land her second foot and fold her wing in a single motion.
The entire harness leapt into dismounting and preparing to unload their baggage.
The White Jaws were away first as their brothers separated themselves from the Hightower party to form a rough ring around the dragon even as Sers Lambert and Omeld moved forward with her towards where Clearsky was making her own landing.
Hylde scrambled up, the slight red-haired girl seemed as jittery as ever with her slightly ragged robes and hurried speech.
"Sorry, sorry," she whispered low as the little blue dragon tried to imitate the grace of her more practiced (if somewhat dim) elder.
"Explain your failing first, then apologize Hylde," She sighed while replacing her goggles with her lenses.
"The apartments closer to the stables are not available," Her assistant jittered as much as the chain of her pendants in her shrill voice. "Lord Manfred's second son, Wyden, is quite taken with his horse and-"
She raised a hand to interrupt her, "An acceptable inconvenience, Clearsky will roost on the roof then. I trust you made note of this Wyden's servants."
Hylde nodded emphatically, "That is so."
"Yes, you are inconveniently formal," Her second's Valyrian was not her strength regrettably. "Ensure a proper reprimand is on hand should this youth once more offend our prince."
"Yes," Hylde confirmed before running off to see to the rest of their preparations.
The girl was imperfect but she was by far the most competent organizer among their number.
A better use if her than breeding stock, she assessed. Hylde did not much enjoy men and the girl was too slight to survive a birth in good health.
Her second would be wasted elsewhere.
She refocused on the introductions of her prince as she mentally dismissed her initial concerns.
"An honor, Lord Redwyne," Her Prince greeted the portly figure of their would-be host as the Lord of the Hightower introduced them.
"The honor is my own, Your Grace." Lord Manfred seemed the sort of man who was a trim youth and had enjoyed his food too much by a stone after age took the better of him. His long muttonchops and low widowspeak only making him look wider.
He handled himself well however, he kept the voice of the happy host and showed a jovial manner.
That impressed her on two accounts.
The first was obvious, those unused to the prince often showed unseemly wariness, confusion or even dismissiveness. All natural, her prince often failed to account for himself and rumor did so love to sail through exaggeration and error.
The second being that he only showed the slightest touch of the irritation that he likely felt when Lady Laena was introduced to him.
The Seahorse 'stole' his prizes after all, she mused.
Lord Manfred had an unwed daughter of six-and-ten and a granddaughter of eight.
Both long prepared for wedding to lord Lymon's son and grandson under a tacit agreement with the suspiciously present Ser Otto.
What a shame he was not too ill to travel, she mused.
"Is all well?" A titan of a man asked as she slid into her place to the left of her prince. Tall and wide in build, layers of muscle and plate and single-minded loyalty.
"Quite," She smiled, knowing that the word was sufficient. There was an unspoken understanding between her and the giant. He guarded his person and she his interests.
"As you say," Ebermen nodded. "My thanks, Lady Nessa."
Nessa Doggett, she liked that name.
It was better than Naelsana at least.
…
Moving the Household was never an easy task.
Supplies, organization, packing and unpacking, each contained a hundred tasks which must be done to perfection.
Their household was far more complex. Relatives, finances, raven relays, passwords and strangers.
She was almost pleased to see it all well and in steady progress.
"You are all so industrious," The string of a woman whom served the Redwynes commented. She was a thing of perfume and silks while her underlings could only be charitably called suitable.
"It is such a fine this to serve well," The woman had attempted to 'be of aid' with their baggage and seemed resentful of the duty already being seen to.
"I do so imagine that it must be an honor," The woman smiled back with something distasteful. "To be so elevated to serve the royal house."
So, it was remarkable how much condescension fit in two letters.
I do believe that she thinks herself my superior.
"I am quite honored," 'Nessa' made herself nervous like a girl a few years her junior. It was a useful and well-worn mask. "Although it is such a difficult task. I can only imagine the skill to serve an entire house."
"Oh dear," The woman of forty clucked her teeth pityingly. "I am afraid that if you manage a house like this, you will have ever so much difficulty."
She clapped a hand gently on her shoulder and gave her a motherly smile.
"But have no fear, let us be friends," she nodded.
You are just the sort of woman that mother warned me of, she noted.
"Friends?" She smiled weakly while flicking her eyes nervously from side to side.
It was the same way she had behaved all those years ago when Vi-The King had taken her in. She still remembered thinking that she would have to behave like an addled and uneducated girl until she was deemed a useful mare by some minor knight.
Before Runciter had encouraged her, before the Archmaester's madness had made feigning ignorance impossible.
Before her prince had given her the chance to be what she was made to be.
"Oh yes, be sure not to trust a single word from those Hightower servants," she waved dismissively. "One does not like to gossip but they say all sorts of things. You are a King's Lander, is that right?"
It was uncanny how much she sounded like the woman in the Hightower and Dragonstone and King's Landing before that.
The woman already knew the answer.
Edric had arrived at a tavern and spoke a great deal yesterday.
Drink was such a fine source of information.
"Y-yes," She nodded shyly. "I was h-his grace's wet-nurse there, he liked me alot. Had me taught proper-oh, that is to say."
She slipped a bit of her 'smallfolk voice' in. No amount of practice ever had it sounding quite authentic for her, but most seemed to believe it.
"Do not worry so much, my dear. I can help you," The woman tisked. "It must be so difficult to look after the prince."
"He-his grace is," she dipped her head. "He frightens me. The others are scared of him to."
"Oh, dearest thing," She would have to have a strong word with whomever thought the woman was worth her keep. "He does seem a cursed little thing, just like the songs say!"
It always took a bit of effort to hold back the urge to free the woman of a few teeth for the comment.
She did not need to inquire what the woman found odd, her prince had a rather unfortunate set of features that made his otherwise handsome face somewhat unsettling.
Gold with stripes of white for hair and eyes stranger yet.
Those eyes that starred at her were not the lilac so common to their house, they were far too bright in shade. A pale pink made only more disconcerting by the fact that their prince did not often blink.
They were tired and piercing in a fashion distinctly unsuited to a man of thirty, much less a child shy of eight.
Worse was his smile. She knew Gaemon tried to smile because he thought that it was disarming.
She did not tell him that the smile was so ever-present to seem almost rictus.
"Oh, they say all manner of things," The gullible woman kept digging her grave while Nessa nodded with 'desperate' confirmation.
People were amusing when they thought they knew something and had knowledge over others.
The woman wasted another half of an hour and she did not think that the fool at all noticed how disproportionate their talk had been.
Or when the topic had turned to Redwyne gossip.
"I almost pity the woman," Ser Frederick giggled as the Redwyne servants left.
"Is that so?" Frederick always liked to be harmless, almost as much as Morgan.
"As you say," He laughed brightly. "I do think she will be a bit crossed when she realizes what she was dealing with."
"I wonder how many more will do it?" She wondered idly as Hylde drifted into her shadow.
"Five so far," She reported. "I had not expected them to try you, Lady."
"I cannot wait to go into the yard," Frederick laughed. "Armsmen and Knights like to cluck so much. Cluck, cluck. Oh, do you think that I might get a fight?"
She repressed a sigh.
"Be sure to write the clucking down," She instructed idly.
"As you say," He related more idly. White Jaws all wore different skins, but they were same creature was underneath.
They all were in a way.
All of them, every servant of the prince.
Each wore the same pendent.
Each had seen the tomb below the Hightower.
Each no longer feared the dragons.
Each understood what it meant.
Even if their prince did not.
No, their prince did not by any measure.
As far as he was concerned, each and every one of them was a master mummer in service to a dozen masters and more.
It would be endearing were it not so sad.
I have only paid them better.
I have only helped him with a girl.
I have only taught her to read.
I have only bought him a book.
I have only given her a golden coin.
I have only brought a maester to his mother.
I have only taken her bastard into my service.
I have only had Arral tend to his child's birth.
I have only had her brother knighted.
I have only saved him from gelding.
I have only arranged her marriage.
On and on.
Yet he acted as if each task won only the goodwill of a small favor.
And that a small favor was itself to be paid with poison.
Every now and then a few were so bold as try to reassure him and hollow smile was always their answer.
So were the words that remained unspoken.
People are selfish.
People cannot be trusted.
No gift, service or risk will ever be enough.
Her mother would have taken a shine to the boy who was like a son to her.
He would have done well in Lys, she reflected. If only he was half as treacherous as he believes the rest of the world to be.
…
"Apples?" Her prince asked curiously.
"Please stop fidgeting, My Prince," Fin grumbled as he tugged the boy back into place. "You will ruin the stitch."
"Apologies Fin", His smile brightened into a toothy grin. "Do try to not poke anything too essential."
"I can only hope," The more morose tailor responded.
"In any case," Gaemon turned back to her. "Apples?"
"Winter is overdue even if the Citadel is expecting one of short length," She explained. It was always worth the token effort, even if her prince was simply not suited to enterprise. "The orchards in the northern Reach customarily take a dip in value at around this time."
"You had a bid in the orchards here," Gaemon's brows knit in recollection. "So we will profit?"
She repressed a sigh, "Yes, however I am suggesting an expansion into the northern orchards."
"Oh! You are suggesting we use profits from winter trade to expand northwards." His eyes narrowed in recognition. "Well, that seems like a good investment."
"I had thought that you might agree," She nodded. "I have seen to it that all measures are taken to have one of our proxies take the next step should you agree to it."
Said proxy being a wineskin with the most interesting quirk of having functional limbs but suitable enough so long as he could be kept out of the cups.
Certainly, the sort of man who would be underestimated.
"I dread to ask how many proxies you have at this point, Nessa," Her prince shook his head ruefully.
"Enough to see your will be done," She smiled before dismissing herself to begin writing the missive. Gaemon would want to have an opportunity to speak with Lady Laena if she was a fair judge.
The prince was putting an inordinate amount of effort into wooing the Lady Velaryon which seemed her as akin to attempting to bait a fish that one has already caught.
The financial aspects were fabulous of course but she could not bring herself to approve of the girl herself, she was entirely too content to be offered gift upon gift meekly and without proper commitment. Fear was no loyalty, gratitude was meaningless if it only extended to deigning to laugh and offer a smile on occasion.
It was something of an open secret that neither the Lady Laena nor his other, potentially more problematic, partner was approved off by those who comprehended the full nature of their prince.
She could not disagree.
There was something… lacking to them.
It was not a matter of power, prestige nor resources.
As if deigning to give their master consideration after his gifts and services somehow entitled them.
They had been their master's shadow and had seen the truth of the tombs.
They heard the screams from his chambers every night.
They had repaid their master's loyalty, gifts and considerations with loyalty. Faith given begrudgingly with blades that had silenced more than one foe before their existence might further torment him.
They were the ones which pilgrimaged to the tombs to meditate on the meaning of the place their prince so secretly loved, who sought High Valyrian to understand the texts, who bound themselves to each other with promises of blood.
She knew why the others so resented the two so much more intensely than she did.
It was a sort of foolish pride.
They could no longer be content with a purposeless and thankless service.
To accept someone so weak as their master's lady would be to accept her mastery over them.
That they did so by preying on their master's good will was to much for some to willingly swallow.
She rolled her shoulders as she entered her still-empty cell, Hylde had already prepared her writing desk fortunately.
It is pointless to worry so much, she chided herself. We will make a worthy master out of whichever one earns him.
She personally thought that Lady Laena had more potential to be shaped than
A small, neat pile of letters awaited her as she opened the first.
It was predictably sealed in white ink and stamped with a Unicorn and a Raven.
She scanned it quickly before burning it.
'Father' still thinks that I care if he wishes me to marry, she mused as she thumbed her pendant. I think not, my child needs me.