An unfortunate thunderstorm in the westerlands had wrecked the roads and delayed the Lannisters' arrival by two weeks – but until a raven came from Rollingford, with a message that the western guests were only several hours away from the capital, nobody had imagined just how unfortunate it was.
The message was received by one of Grand Maester Elysar's pupils and was brought before Septon Barth, since, having recently gone into confinement, Alysanne was now due to give birth at any moment, and the Grand Maester was taking care of her.
Septon Barth quickly sought out Alaric (he was standing near Alysanne's chamber) to tell him of the disaster.
"If they're received by the Hand, it will be a great offense," he said grimly. "Their first official visit not related to any feast..."
"Aemon can welcome them."
"My lord, he's barely seven and worried about his mother. He might make mistakes. And before you say I can correct them, I believe I will do more good elsewhere."
"Where?" Alaric snapped.
"I need to make sure the city's septs pray for the queen and the child, and I've got some traveling septons who will be able to rally people to prayer in the streets. If the Lannisters see it, it will show them how well-loved Her Grace is in King's Landing – and they will immediately know not to expect her in the throne room."
The idea, Alaric had to admit, had merit.
He was loath to stay away from Alysanne at such a moment, let alone busy himself with these westerners – but, on the other hand, it wasn't like he could do anything to help himself. He had heard that a woman had it easier during birth if she had already had children and her body was, so to say, trained for delivery... but he had also heard that many childbirths could weaken the woman and make it harder for her if the baby wasn't her first. The anxiety and the helplessness were eating him up... and if he remained here, poor Aemon would be left as good as alone to face the Lannisters. The small council save for Septon Barth barely counted.
With a jolt, Alaric realized that he wasn't just worried about the relations with the westerlands: he was genuinely afraid for Aemon. Before that, he was ready to admit that Alysanne's boys were nice children and that Aemon in particular was quite polite and progressing fast with both his studies and his training, but never before had he felt that instinctive surge of protectiveness that came towards one's own children.
"Tell me immediately when the child is born," he said to the servant standing at the door (at the ready in case the Grand Maester needed something urgently fetched). "Septon Barth, do your job with the septs."
"My lord," Septon Barth bowed, relief plain in his face.
Alaric went to the throne room, still straining his ears to hear what was going on in Alysanne's room. Jonelle had a dreadful third birth: it took ten hours for Alarra to make it out (she was positioned the other way round, the maester told him later). What if something went wrong now, too?
Aemon was already sitting on the Iron Throne, more miserable than ever. Baelon by his side, probably still not comprehending what was going on, looked a little lost more than frightened.
"Smile, Your Grace," Aspen Turnberry, dressed in Lannister red for the occasion rather than her usual unassuming pale colors, was instructing Aemon right as Alaric went inside the throne room. "Our guests have to feel welcome."
Aemon stretched his lips into a vaguely smile-like grimace.
Coming towards them, Alaric stood by the Iron Throne's side, next to Baelon.
"I won't be correcting you," he told Aemon. "It will only get you more confused. If you find yourself at a loss for words, tap your hand here," he pointed at one of the Throne's longer, blunter and wider blades that were relatively safe to touch.
"Yes, my lord," Aemon nodded. "How... how is Mommy?"
"She is doing fine, but the signs of birthing have only just started," Alaric said.
"Grand Maester Elysar knows his job, I am certain," said Martyn Tyrell.
Alaric glared at him. He hated such platitudes. Yes, the Grand Maester knew his job, but sometimes, not even the best of maesters could do enough. Remarks like this, in Alaric's opinion, only strained the nerves further.
However, Aemon viewed the matter differently – or maybe he was already getting into the part of a courteous king.
"Thank you, Lord Tyrell," he smiled, and the smile looked much more genuine now.
They had to wait for another two hours, but Alaric had to double-check the servants' preparations in the guests' quarters, so for him, two hours weren't nearly enough. Aemon and Baelon, of course, were getting bored, especially the latter: Alaric had to discipline him about running around in the throne room.
And all the time, Alaric was straining his ears to hear if any sounds were coming out of Alysanne's room, even though he realized it was half the castle away. With a constant sense of dread, he understood that if the worst came to the very worst – if Alysanne or the child didn't survive the birth – Grand Maester Elysar wouldn't announce it until the evening, until the Lannisters were welcomed properly and settled in.
The journey was horrible. Rain had followed them almost all the way from Casterly Rock, and little Tymond often cried, disturbed by the shaking of the wheelhouse. After all these days, Fenella felt she had gone half-deaf from his screaming, even though, at a year of age, Tymond had generally grown somewhat calmer than he used to be in his earliest infancy.
When they finally reached King's Landing, excitement was rife in the streets – not only due to their arrival, but because the queen, as Fenella quickly learned from the prayers chanted at nearly every corner, was about to give birth. With the crowds gathered to welcome them and the groups who had come together to pray for the queen's delivery, the wheelhouses' way was almost fully blocked.
By the time they were at the Red Keep's gates, Fenella couldn't care less about the Targaryens, the Watch of King's Landing, or anything else beside sitting into a soft chair that wouldn't shake.
At least Tymond's nurse Gerda managed to calm him down a little. He had recently started learning to walk, so he even managed to walk into the throne room of the Keep by Fenella's side (although he was clutching at her skirt to keep his balance).
Predictably, the queen wasn't there to greet them. King Aemon, whom Fenella only vaguely remembered from the recent wedding celebration, was sitting on the Iron Throne, looking terrified, flanked by his brother and stepfather. In front of the ladies-in-waiting stood a drab teenage girl whom Fenella, after a momentary confusion, recognized as Alarra Stark.
"Lord Lannister, Lady Lannister, Ser Tyler, I welcome you to King's Landing," Aemon said in a single breath, and she saw his eyes dart towards his stepfather, as if looking for validation.
Wonderful, Fenella thought. Stark has already made himself at home here.
She had heard a lot about Alaric Stark's cruel, unforgiving nature. That man, people said, would be the last to agree to any compromise.
On the other hand, Lannister people from the capital and the Reach alike brought news that Lord Stark was absolutely besotted with the queen and allowed her to have the last word in any matter. But, first, it could be an exaggeration by some romantic-minded observers. Second, it hasn't even been a full year since the queen's wedding, and in a short while, the early infatuation would of course fade. Third, with her confinement, Alysanne wasn't going to appear at court for who knew how long.
What right does she have to pop out children like a she-cat? Fenella thought bitterly. She has three of them already! Three of four lived through the disease, damn it! I wish my husband died of the Shivers instead of my sweet babes!
"Your humble servant, Your Grace," she said instead, sinking into a bow. "I thank you for the invitation, and I pray Queen Alysanne delivers her child safely."
"Thank you, Lady Lannister," Aemon smiled nervously. "Uh... I would like to offer for Lord Tymond to join the company of my sweet sister Princess Alyssa. She is cared for by Lady Myranda Hogg."
Fenella's heart sank. No. Not Tymond. I won't let him be taken away from me and the servants I trust. However, refusing such an offer would be offensive... well, perhaps not to the little king who barely understood what was going on, but definitely to Lord Stark.
"I am deeply grateful for your hospitality, Your Grace, but my child is feeling somewhat distressed and put out of sorts by the long journey. I would ask your permission for him to join the princess on the morrow."
"Uh, certainly, my lady."
Lord Stark looked disdainful. He probably decided she was being too indulgent towards her son. Easy for you to think so, with your whole brood of children, Fenella thought.
"Ser Tyler," Aemon continued, "Robert Redwyne, our Commander of the City Watch, is prepared to meet with you and discuss recrrrrrruitments this evening or tomorrow morning, whichever you prefer."
"Tomorrow morning, Your Grace," Tyler said immediately. "My lady spoke the truth: the journey has been harsh, and I would like to rest, if Your Grace permits."
Aemon was instantly anxious:
"Oh! I'm sorry! Do you need Grand Maester Elysar to attend to you? Oh... I mean... he is busy with Mo... with Her Grace, of course, but I can ask his students... I mean..." flustered, he grew silent.
"Ser Tyler, if you or Lord Tymond or anyone from your party is feeling sick, we will be glad to send you one of the Keep's maesters," said Lord Stark. It still wasn't quite the right way of speaking: he should have addressed Fenella who had the higher rank, and he continued to look rather gloomy, but it salvaged the awkwardness somewhat.
"Thank you, my lord," Tyler said.
"You will be shown the way to your chambers," Aemon continued. "Er... the supper will be in the white dining room, and if Mother is feeling well in the evening, Lord Stark, my brother and I will join you."
Could have been worse, Fenella admitted to herself when she finally – finally – sank onto a velvet couch in one of the rooms prepared for her with a sigh of relief. Aemon looked rather pathetic, of course, but few were different at his age, and the one time he blundered really badly was out of kindness, while Lord Stark, for all his outward grimness, didn't seem eager to turn his stepson into another Maegor.
She played with Tymond a little (her darling boy, thankfully, recovered quickly from the journey and was soon his cheerful self again) and decided to take a look at the several books she spotted on a shelf, when it dawned on her that there was a growing commotion in the keep's halls.
The birth, she realized. Judging by how no mourning bells were rung, it seemed it went successfully.
Her guess was proven right several minutes later, when a page with the Sunglass sigil on his doublet knocked on the chambers' door.
"His Grace is delighted to tell you that Her Grace, Queen Alysanne, has safely given birth to a son," he reported, beaming.
Wonderful.
"I offer my heartfelt congratulations to His Grace, Her Grace, Lord Stark and their whole family," Fenella forced herself to smile back. "My fondest wishes to the little lord."
"I will pass it on, my lady," the Sunglass boy nodded eagerly and rushed off, presumably to spread the news further.
Fenella turned back and looked at Tymond, who was playing with a toy horse and blabbering without a care in the world. The only one I have left, she repeated to herself over and over again, fighting the urge to hug the boy tight and keep him in safety forever.
Alysanne is about my age, and she is now having her sixth child, but I've only got my sweet boy. Why? Why did it happen like this? How could she even create this last one with Lord Stark, who looks like he hates the world?
She swallowed, fighting back tears. She needed to do the best for her darling Tymond, and getting offended at the queen wasn't the best way to start.
"Alysanne, my love, I'm... I can't tell you how happy I am," Alaric said, his voice thick. His hand was on her shoulder, and she was cradling their son in her arms.
The dear little boy was smaller than Baelon was at birth, but he was sturdy (and his vocal cords were in perfect order, as they had already disovered). His face was too red and wrinkled for her to see what it actually looked like (no wonder – the birth had lasted a few hours, and both she and the baby were pretty exhausted), but he had the most adorable hair: chestnut brown in the dark, it gained a definite silvery gleam whenever a ray of light fell on them.
"A true child of ice and fire," she smiled weakly as the baby turned and his head moved into the candlelight. "How should we name him, then, darling? You mentioned you liked names with Creg."
"Mm-hm," he murmured. "How about Cregmar or Cregard?"
"Cregard's a bit too rough-sounding, I think. I like Cregmar better."
"Cregmar it is, then. It means... now let me remember... a famous strong one."
"A fine name, especially if the boy becomes a warrior," Alysanne said.
"Strength isn't just in the muscles – you are a proof of that, sweetheart."
"You've learned to flatter pretty nicely," she teased. "All those Reachmen at court are clearly an influence on you."
She loved those first precious hours after birth, but ever since poor sweet Aegon died and even more so now, they were inevitably laced with worry for the future. Would the baby grow fast enough? What if another deadly disease spread in the kingdom? What if she made mistakes with raising little Cregmar and he would feel neglected like Alyssa did? What if he strifed with his half-brothers?
From how protectively Alaric leaned over her and Cregmar, she knew that his happiness was tinged with sadness too. His children and grandchildren were alive and well, but he had lost many loved ones.
The world is beautiful and exciting, Cregmar, Alysanne thought, looking at the child (he was already feeding – only Baelon had started to feed that soon before), but it can also be dangerous. I'm sorry I couldn't bring you into a safer place, but I promise I'll make it safer for you and your siblings.
"Grand Maester," she said loudly... well, as loudly as she could. "Please send ravens to proclaim the birth of Lord Cregmar Stark."
"Yes, Your Grace," said Grand Maester Elysar, who had previously stood in the corner of the room, tactfully busying himself with placing his medicines back into the cupboard. "I will check your and Lord Cregmar's condition again after I'm done with ravens. Send for me at once if you feel worse."
He left the room brusquely, as if glad to be finally rid of his duties at the birthing bed. Whenever Elysar addressed her directly, he was never outright rude, but his annoyance with – well – just about everything still seeped through.
Right now, however, it was a good sign. Acid-tongued and irritable he might be, the Grand Maester would have never left if he had known her or the dear boy to be in any danger.
"Would you like Alarra and the boys... the older boys," Alaric corrected himself with a small smile, "to visit you? They are to have supper with the Lannisters, but there's still half an hour left until that."
"No, no, let them prepare for the supper. If they come here, they will inevitably be late," she chuckled. "They'll entertain the Lannisters, and Cregmar and I will have some rest, and I'll see them later in the evening. By the way, are you going to join them?"
"I don't think I'll be missed too much. Septon Barth is back at the Keep and will be there: he will be able to navigate the diplomacy much better."
"I'm so glad," she whispered, and he knew she didn't mean the organization of the supper.