Chapter 65: SI POV XVII
Early 162 AC
I could smell the city before I saw it, and truly my memories of this once-fictional place did not do such a justice to it in person. I had smelled plenty of terrible things in my first life, and then again in this one, but for something to smell as foul as Kings Landing was a testament that the people within put up with it or went nose blind just to live in the capitol of the Seven Kingdoms. The fact that half a million dwelled in its walls and yet were not devastated every few years with some terrible plague truly was a testament to the either innate magic of the world or the resistance to so many diseases rendering the immune systems of these people as comparably superhuman to old Earth.
Yet as I crested the tallest hill between myself and the source of that stench, I could not help but be awed by the city of the Targaryen kings in the light of a late afternoon sun, its massive size as wondrous as anything else I'd seen in this world. The massive harbor that saw ships from across the world was filled to the brim with visiting Westerosi and Essosi alike, banners as countless as leaves in a forest, many of which I could not recognize. That the city could support such a harbor and its own massive size truly indicated that the people of Planetos, whilst so like my old world in so many ways, had clearly gotten their shit together when it came to architecture and knew how to build things that would last generations upon generations. Or magic subtly pervaded everything and kept it all together, but I'd yet to see any real evidence of that.
As I crossed over open ground, towards the vast expanse of tents and camps of the many lords attending the upcoming tourney, my small caravan was halted by a trio of guards at the perimeter of the great tourney grounds. I saw their regalia was that of the Targaryens themselves, something I had not expected. "Your house, origin and business, my lord?" the lead man asked.
"Lord Casper of House Wytch, from the Stormlands," I replied from atop my horse. "I am here to attend the tourneys celebrating our king's nameday, captain, and perhaps buy my wife some finer luxuries from the city." I was glad to have made it before dark, at least, as the true tourney would not begin for a short while yet, and I'd rather be settled in before things began to begin in earnest.
The man next to the captain retrieved a large stack of parchment, flipping through them until reaching near the last of the pages. "House Wytch is on the list, ser," he said.
"List?" I asked.
"Aye, a list was made of all attending houses to be expected, milord," the captain replied. "Mostly to sort 'em out if needed, you and your party will be over by the Stormlands main camp, south and towards the river."
Well, this was… more organized than I thought this would be. Yes, ensuring feuding houses weren't too close to one another was a smart thing for any organizer to consider, but I hadn't expected my Westerosi RSVP equivalent to be taken to this level. Makes sense that kingdom houses would be grouped together I suppose, but I was certain they'd put the lower houses together outside and the higher ones would be dwelling in manses in the city. Was this Daeron's doing in some kind of display of power, or Baelor's for mere practicality? In fact, I had no idea who oversaw the tourney and its facets, the Hand of the King maybe?
"Are there designated areas within those main camps?"
"As far I can tell, my lord, it's not required," the man replied. "Most of the lords and their households take up whatever room they need, usually depending on who got there first."
Thankfully the host of men and women under my command was not terribly large, even by the standards of what a lord of my station had at their disposal. I had departed my lands with personal guards and knights, including the unmarried twin from the Westerlands, along with half again as many aides, scribes, and other smallfolk. A good thing too, as while we were efficient and moved quickly enough across roads that now mirrored my own outside of Stormhall, foul weather had delayed us enough to set us back near half a week of travel.
"Very well, captain," I replied, before fishing out a trio of silver coins, tossing one to each man. "Keep up the good work." I rode past them before they could say much else, but given their rather surprised expressions, they likely hadn't been 'tipped' by any of the other lords, and I had silver to spare. At least the amount couldn't be claimed to be a bribe, as I'd not asked for anything.
My host and I meandered through the winding road of the great camp, moving through the Reach contingent judging from the banners I recognized. Whilst Lord Tyrell himself remained in Dorne, keeping to the pacification of the western and southern half, I saw his banners here, surrounded by those of whichever houses his family had close ties with. Hightower, Florent, Tarly, they were all here, as well as countless others, and honestly, the fact that the Reach had so many houses never mentioned in the books or show truly showed just how expansive this world was. I didn't recognize at least half of those banners…
As I rounded a bend, a sigil I was more familiar with fluttered nearby the track, and as I passed by, there was a sudden rush of movement.
"Lord Wytch!" a voice that I recognized called out.
"Lord Ashford!" I replied with a smile as the lord, alongside a younger man I presumed to be his heir, marched up to my small column, flanked by a pair of his household guards. "I was hoping to see you here, I'd heard from your cousin that your house was looking to win one of the competitions."
"Aye, the king's made to have more competitions than any tourney I've ever heard of. Of course, there's to be jousts and the melee, but I've heard of singing, tugs of rope, javelin tossing, and a great deal of other events planned. A grand spectacle it'll be for sure, all for his nameday celebration and the unification of kingdoms under one throne."
"Indeed, the 'Seven Kingdoms' I've heard smallfolk and merchants call it now, and I might try my hand at a competition or two, depending on my chances. What of Meryn? Is he ready to foster?"
"Aye, I'd have preferred it earlier, but with those fevers that swept through after that short winter, I thought it safer to keep him until they'd mostly passed," the lord replied. "He'll do right by my house in your care, Lord Wytch, I assure you. I'll send him off after I return home."
"Indeed, as I would when I have a son of my own to foster. By the way, I brought a pair of barrels of fireplum brandy, I should like to share some with those who made such a fine vintage possible."
"Perhaps tonight around the fire with fellow lords, I have heard there are to be several great gatherings tonight, though when and where I know not," the man replied. "Have you any whiskey?"
I smiled, I had barrels of the stuff, likely more than all of Kings Landing. "Of course! Can't attend a nameday celebration of the king without bringing the best!"
"Excellent, I'll find you on the morrow after sunrise once I've broken my fast, too much parchment to go through until then anyway, but a busy lord is an industrious one!"
We shared a laugh before I continued on my way, the summer breeze just cool enough to ease the heat of the sun, but not as well as shade. Past the edges of the Reach contingent, the Stormlands one was a bit less clean than their counterparts, but to my surprise, seemed quite a bit more organized. At least I recognized most of the banners radiating out from the Baratheon ones, though these too had a good number of smaller, similar banners surrounding them as well. Cadet branches perhaps, or separate but united houses like the Fossoways became during that time of Duncan the Tall.
Oh wow, that little event was likely not to happen now, what with history being so thoroughly changed. Just how far would things veer away from the original world now? The Darklyns and Duskendale, the Peake Uprising, obviously the Blackfyres if Daeron or Baelor have children to prevent Aegon's kingship, and who knows what else could happen from Dorne to the Wall or even beyond…
Veering off onto an unclaimed portion of the camp, I spied the banners of Selmy and Dondarrion. Coincidence? I'd hope not, as I had been looking forward to meeting with them again after the end of the war, rather than merely corresponding through riders every few moons. Signaling my smallfolk and men to prepare our camp, I dismounted my horse just as another familiar figure appeared outside their tent. "Lord Selmy!" I called with a wave as he approached me. "I hope this parcel is not taken, my lord."
"Not until you arrived, but I'd expected you to arrive days ago," the older man said with a curious glance to my party. "Trouble on the roads?"
"Storms south of and within the Kingswood, for the most part," I replied. "In my lands it wouldn't be an issue, but without the inns to take in travelers every so often, we had to make ourselves a good enough camp to avoid any flooding or undue risk. I've brought plenty of gifts to share, so I'd rather take a little longer to avoid losing good whiskey."
"Aye, and that brandy of yours is one I'd gladly see arrive safe," my fellow Stormlord said. "Come, let us talk in private, I've word of some news that should interest you."
With a nod, I gave my orders to my men and attendants, and with the heavy lifting left to their capable hands, I followed my sister's soon-to-be goodfather towards his own tent, whose guards gave me a nod as we walked inside. The interior reminded me much of our tents during the war, rather sparse but efficiently put together. Indeed, as we sat down across from one another at his table, a servant arrived with a tray of food and a flask of ale, filling our mugs before departing.
"As you may know, this tourney has brought a great many lords from across Westeros to these lands, many of whom have never heard of your house," Lord Selmy said, eating a piece of cheese before taking a swig of his ale.
I nodded as I took a drink as well. In my past life I'd never been a fan of beer or ale, never had the taste for it, but here I guess I'd drank enough to at least be able to somewhat enjoy it. Selmy's ale was better than others, at least. "I should think so, there's banners from the Reach I saw of houses that I've never heard of."
He nodded. "However, after three years, tales of our exploits, especially yours, will have spread far and wide in Westeros. Some of them good, some…" he trailed off, wobbling his hand a bit.
"Not so good," I finished, enjoying the nuttiness of my own wedge of cheese. Thank every god out there I hadn't been reborn lactose intolerant. "Whether those stories will be taken as fact or merely as hyperbole remains to be seen."
"Aye, it would be a simple manner, if only there were those not emphasizing the poorer tales and ignoring or downplaying the greater ones."
We were silent for a few moments as I slowly drained my ale. Stories of people's achievements always had their detractors for one reason or another. Be it who 'really' won a war in my old world, or the reasons behind some law, or the actions of a group of people trying for something better to be twisted into something to serve another's aims, it was nothing new there, and it was not new here. However, here, the decision to willfully commit slander would not result in mere monetary recompense or formal apologies. This was Westeros. Shit like that could get you the medieval equivalent of blacklisted from powerful people if enough of them liked the person you were talking shit about, or worse, you'd be invited for a duel for the sake of the honor of the offended person, party or house. Hells, the slight of losing his daughter's hand in marriage to Prince Duncan for Jenny of Oldstones had made Bobby B's great grandfather Lyonel renounced fealty to the Iron Throne!
People took honor and slights against one's character far, far more seriously in Westeros, to where even a perceived slight could still get you caught up in a duel, even if you'd never actually done anything. That someone was apparently going around, spreading the tales that put me in a bad light, all the while ignoring or talking down ones that did the opposite? The list of such people was not liable to be large, and even if it-
"Fossoway?" I asked with a sigh, eating the last of my cheese.
Lord Selmy nodded with a sigh of his own. "The apples of Cider Hall and the Darklyns have been spreading tales of your house and deeds in an unfavorable light, Lord Wytch. They have yet to try anything in the Stormlands camp, considering they'd be liable to be roughed up or worse, as so many of us served by your side or owe a great deal to you and your work. However, save for a few vocal lords in the Reach encampment, you are not liable to find many friends on the tourney grounds from those two portions."
"What of the other sections? The Riverlands, North and such?"
"From what the servants have overheard, assuming they are correct, the Riverlands seem split on their opinion of you, or at least whoever has vocally expressed such an opinion, but that is nothing new for that kingdom. The Westerlands and Vale are rather quiet, though I think the Vale are dismissing it as mere slander against a good knight. They have likely learned of the reason for your knighting by Lord Baratheon alongside the prince, and thusly hold you in higher esteem than they usually might."
"As for the North?" I didn't care much for the lords of the Crownlands, if only because my friendship with the throne's heir would override any overt derision of my house.
"Last I heard of their camp, Darklyn and Fossoway men are no longer allowed in their midst."
I smiled at that. Good to know my gifts had won me friends in the furthest kingdom.
"I assume you mean to combat these rumors?" Lord Selmy asked.
"Yes, but not as another might. I'd rather not start a feud with either house, given their connections and long history, but I will not allow these insults to stand."
"By way of sword?"
"No."
He arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? You'll not challenge them to a duel? I'd have thought a man of your stature would be more ready to defend the honor of his house against such drivel."
"Oh, I will and intend to do so, but I've no way of knowing the skill of whomever I might duel, and as we know from our time in the Marches, I'm not one to take undue risks of them 'accidentally' maiming or killing me in such a duel. Nay, their undoing will come from their own words, and the actions I will demonstrate that undercut anything they lay claim to."
"Ah, so by drawing them in without giving any indication you are onto their game, you are causing an enemy to bring harm to his own actions, like what you did with the first set of raiders."
I smiled. "Indeed, my lord. A trap has already been set with how I have conducted myself since becoming lord, as one with honor, respect, and goodwill. Much as a house may conduct itself long enough to earn a reputation, so too may a lord. Now I believe it is time to spring my trap upon those that would denigrate my house as they are." The only question was… would this work out in my favor, or leave both parties harmed? It was risky, but so was simply letting them tarnish the name of my house.
"I'll leave you to that then, but come by if you require assistance. We are to be family, after all, once Arenna is of age. How are your sisters these days? What of your daughters?"
I shrugged. "Fair as I could hope for, Lord Selmy. My daughters grow with every passing day it seems, and my sisters are nearer and nearer to their majority. It feels like only yesteryear that they were demanding rides upon my back or playing hide and seek, but now they are taking to tasks more fitting a lady than a young girl."
"Any I should know of?"
"Arenna enjoys hawking like my wife does, reading like I do, and playing music on her dulcimer unlike anyone else."
"A what?" he asked, looking a tad confused.
"Oh, it's a new instrument we created a few years ago, one she's much better at than I. Think of it as a very solid harp but on its side, and instead of using her fingers to pluck the strings, she uses small hammers to do so instead."
He shook his head with a smile. "Just another invention I suppose. I do wonder what it sounds like, I'll be sure to stop by Stormhall to hear it after the tourney is over."
"My house would be delighted to have you for a visit, my lord. I do hope you wouldn't mind sharing some embarrassing stories of Addam from his younger days for Arenna's sake."
"Indeed, all good fathers remember such times, so that their own sons will remember similar tales when they have sons of their own. Your sister Arenna, how old is she again?"
"She recently celebrated her five and tenth nameday. We are still on course for a wedding three moons after her eighth and tenth then?"
"Aye, that we are. Addam may be only six and ten come that time, close to seven and ten, but is a good match, and I have done my best to ensure he will be a good man for her."
I smiled. "I would expect nothing less from a man of your standing and a house of your reliability. I will bring about some brandy around the fire tonight, are we to expect many?"
He shrugged as we rose from our seats. "Aye, perhaps a good dozen or so lords. Until then, I'll leave you to your business Lord Wytch."
Turns out that was not quite the case. Yes, there were about two dozen lords around the fire, but also amongst them were heirs, spares, brothers and other kin gathered for the tourney. It was a good thing I'd brought as many barrels of liquor as I had, even if I was holding back a pair of the finest brandy and whiskey I had.
"Lord Wytch!" a voice called, and to my right I spied Lord Dondarrion next to Lord Selmy. "Good of you to join us, but what is this I hear of brandy? Have you been leaving us thirsty over here?"
"Such a foolish act was not my intention my lord, for I've brought nothing but the best brandy I have, and whiskey to boot!" I replied, gesturing to the small cart my smallfolk were currently wheeling over. "I've enough here for hopefully several nights, but knowing Stormlords like us, we'll go through it in no time at all!"
"Hopefully not too quickly, a drink this strong is not to be treated like some middling ale," Lord Dondarrion replied. "A strong drink for strong men of the Stormlands!"
A round of chuckles from the gathered lords set the mood, the heat of summer dissipating as night drew on around our gathering. Indeed, with the light foods brought about by servants, it was a pleasant night to be had on gathering grounds of the upcoming tourney celebrations. Other great fires hosted gatherings of lords for every kingdom, with most keeping to their own kingdoms. Even as I took my seat, I could tell the mood was currently a cheerful one, filled with the bravado and excitement that only a great gathering of lords could bring about. The fine weather helped as well, and as my servants served the preferred drink of the gathered men, I couldn't help but feel such a good feeling would not last forever.
This was Westeros, nothing nice lasted long.
Pushing that dark thought aside, I accepted my decanter of brandy just as one of the younger lordlings was suddenly reduced to coughing, spluttering mess.
"By the gods lad, I warned you," Lord Dondarrion said by his side, nursing his own whiskey.
"Gods, it burns unlike anything I've had before!" the lordling replied with a hint of admiration, finishing off his coughing as his red face turned to mine. "How in the hells can anyone drink this?"
"Stronger stuff like this needs to be enjoyed slowly, like a good woman," I replied with a sip, earning more than a few knowing chuckles. "Just be thankful it's not the stuff my medics used to clean wounds or their tools during the war, you'd feel like you were dying if you did."
"Aye, I remember that brew they used," a lord said, a Swann judging from his sigil. "Saved my father's captain from a nasty slice on his arm, maester thought they'd have to amputate before those medics got to it. Smell could make you weep though if you weren't ready for it."
"Hear hear," another lord said, his sigil unknown to me, but if I had to guess, probably somewhere from the eastern Stormlands. "My uncle had three arrows removed from him, but he didn't get sick afterwards. Whatever it is, it cleans a wound finer than anything my maester has."
"It is not just that it can clean the area around a wound," I replied. "It is the fact that a good medic will thoroughly clean his tools between uses. We likely all know of men who got filth of some kind into a wound, even a minor one, and became ill afterwards or worse. If a learned man is looking to heal you of your injuries, would you not wish for his tools to be clean?"
"Aye, just a man does not go to war with a rusted sword, lest it break when he does not need it to," Lord Selmy said, toasting me with his mug of brandy. "It is just a shame that such words of wisdom were not spread sooner."
"Better late than never, as some say, but all wisdom is learned through trial. To think of all the First Men that ate some plant or creature for the first time, only to find it either disgusting or downright deadly, and thus perished for us all to know not to eat that item. Learning something of import is neither fair nor easy, but it tends to be the best way to learn."
Murmurs of agreement rose just above the crackle of our great fire, the hot embers glowing brightly as the night deepened around us. Strange to think such behavior was a norm likely throughout human history, of people gathered around a fire for warmth and some semblance of companionship.
"Do your medics take apprentices?" one of the lordlings asked.
"Aye, but not quite like a smith or tanner. Those with a disposition or wish to heal are taken in at an age just below their majority, perhaps at five and ten at the lowest, and spend these early years learning of proper techniques, the right kinds of poultices or herbs, and tend to assist in the simpler tasks." I sipped my brandy. "Those that wish to continue then move on to more advanced techniques, such as resetting bones, braces, mixing or administering medicines and the like."
"So, young men of good standing?"
"Aye, and young women too if they wish." There were a few murmurs about that, more of surprise than anything I'd think was offense, but you never knew with Westerosi.
"Why involve them in the healing arts?" one of the lordlings asked.
"Well, women are already involved as nursemaids and midwives, and to be frank my lords, it would certainly help put a man's mind at ease. Imagine yourself unable to afford a maester's aid, and your wife, sister or daughter is ill or injured enough to require care. Wouldn't you rather they were primarily tended to by a woman rather than some man who has yet to earn your trust, and could do any number of things while you are not looking?"
Some of the men seemed puzzled by this, as if it'd never crossed their minds before. A few, however, nodded in agreement, though they likely did not realize women could do many of those same 'things' to a patient if given the privacy. Perversion and malice held no gender, after all, but given the martial society of Westerosi, it'd have to be a blatant act by a female caregiver to arouse suspicion in some of these meatheads.
"So your medics, how do they keep their female members safe?" Lord Selmy asked. Given how my medics had been unable to save his son Borros from his injuries, he was remarkably forgiving where other lords might have been suspicious of my simply trying to get my blood on a house's seat. The death of Borros was a tragedy, to be sure, and I'd be damned if I wasn't upset for Lord Selmy's loss.
"Well, the medics have their own small detachment of guards when assembled in the army, and the womenfolk are never to be alone, no matter their task, save for tending to the grievously wounded. In Sunspear more than one man tried his chances with some of my medics when they thought themselves free to do so. Given the state of their face and hands after receiving a beating from recovered patients and guards alike… I'd say they learned their lessons well enough."
"A good idea, no man who lays hands of a healer is deserving of pity, especially if they were the ones to care for them," Lord Dondarrion added. "Truly despicable people, those Dornish."
"I wish I could say that the men who attempted such… acts were only Dornish, my lord," I replied. "Every kingdom that had men in that army of our king had men attempt such acts over the course of the war. We all heard of the trial at Wylgrove against some hedge knight, beasts wearing the skin of men and pledging support in war only to turn around and do as they please."
"Did the prince truly duel that rapist?" another lord asked, of House Caron by his sigil.
"No, but from what I have heard he would have, were it not for Ser Thorne of the Kingsguard dueling on the prince's behalf," Lord Selmy said. "Gods be good, a prince only three and ten participating in a trial by combat."
"Bear in mind he was only four and ten when Lord Baratheon knighted him in Dorne," Lord Dondarrion added, and I could not help but notice he glanced my way as he said it. "Youngest knighting I've ever heard of."
"If it weren't for the prince's deeds, I know many would say he was too young for it, myself among them," I said. "Tis a great responsibility for one so young, but he is a prince, and Baelor has been raised well by Lord Baratheon to bear the burden of such responsibility."
"You were there as well, weren't you Lord Wytch?" Dondarrion asked.
"Aye, I was. Lord Baratheon knighted us both for finding the old Wyl hoard."
"Among other reasons…" Lord Selmy trailed off, and immediately I knew what he was trying to do.
"Lord Wytch?" Lord Caron asked. "Are any of the rumors true about what Prince Baelor found beneath the sands of Dorne?"
"You'll have to be more specific, Lord Caron," I replied. "I've not heard all the rumors that have been spread by smallfolk and merchant alike, but having been by the prince's side during his expedition, I do believe I'm among the more qualified lords to explain what is truth, and what is merely exaggeration."
"I heard of rumors of a lost city beneath the sands, the remnants of a city swallowed by the sands in retribution by the gods for their wars against the Iron Throne."
I shook my head. "There was a settlement, yes, but they were all that remained of people who fled into caves in the wake of the Conqueror's first war with Dorne. The only way in at the time was sealed by what seems to be dragonfire, as I don't think cave rock is supposed to melt, and they were stuck down there until, by chance, a new passage was opened for us."
"What of the many spirits that plagued the men along the journey?"
"No spirits, but terrible nightmares for quite some time."
"A fallen god with an army of monsters standing guard over the treasure?" one of the younger lordlings asked, prompting a round of chuckles from the others around the fire. "Surely that one is not true, my lord, and it was simply a warlord down there with some rabble of under dwellers?"
I was silent for a few moments, both for dramatic effect and to steel myself for having to tell them the world they knew was not as simple as they thought. Doubtless there would be those that did not believe me, but that was on them. "That one was true, as much as I wish it wasn't." I tipped back the last of my drink and refused a refill, knowing I'd need a clear head come morning.
Their jovial looks slowly faded into stunned surprise or confusion. "Truly?" one asked. "Surely you jest?"
"Not about something like this," I replied. "Several hundred men armed with sword and steel do not simply fall prey to under dwellers armed with crude bone spears and rocks on an open expanse."
"Hundreds?" Lord Selmy asked.
I slowly wove my tale for them of our time venturing into the Undersand. Of the glowing rivers emerging from a great central spring, of the remnants of a town that had never seen sunlight, of a people long forgotten who pledged themselves to the prince for safety, and what attacked as we excavated the treasure of Blackadder Wyl. Honestly, I didn't think of myself as much of a storyteller, but the men around the fire were silent as I gave the details, enraptured by my words of what I had seen and experienced.
When the part of Nadresy's portion arrived, some scoffed at first, but fell silent when I explained to them how such a monster had come to be. More than a few seemed sick at the mention of the monster's minions, of men, women and children's watery corpses reanimated to deal death upon their master's foes. When telling of how the beast was defeated by a combined effort of the prince, our men and myself, the only sound I could hear as I finished was that of the crackling fire.
"So that is where the Prince found his axe," Lord Selmy said, finishing his drink as the gathering once more erupted in low mutters. "A weapon like that is a fitting reward for his accomplishments."
"Yet I'd have rather he'd found it, rather than needed it to save my life," I replied. "The prince is a great man and more than worthy heir to our king, but he was only four and ten at that time. The weight placed upon his shoulders as a prince and heir should be enough for him, and yet he continues to add to his burden, rather than lighten it. To have fought and survived such a hellish beast? I am lucky that we slew it with our minds intact, as I know of others who had not when confronted with that horrible visage."
"So a creature that was a Rhoynish turle and a crab, horribly mixed together. What kind of sorcery could create such an abomination?" Lord Dondarrion asked.
"The kind that we should all be thankful is no longer possible in this world, likely not even in Asshai or distant Yi-Ti," I replied. "Yet as much as some may decry it, I believe in my heart that magic is like any other thing in this world, even as it continues to fade. Anything can be used for good, or for evil, and the thin line that divides such choices can often be murky and easily crossed. However, in the instance of what ancient Rhoynish created and then unleashed upon their descendants, I cannot help but pity them."
"To think, two entire houses perished down there," another said with a shiver. "That the lords brought their heirs with them on such a venture…"
"A mistake I am hoping the prince will be able to convince our king need never happen again," I said. "The loss of a lord and his heirs can cast a land into a discordant mess, should succession be unclear or impossible. Such upheaval could then spread to other lands, if not by loss of the house, then by the smallfolk being preyed upon by bandits, or turning to banditry themselves to survive uncertain times. With hope, the king may yet enact a law prohibiting a lord from bringing too many heirs with him to war, to help curb succession crises or the loss of entire houses in the future."
"Safeguarding the security of houses, regardless of kingdom, would most certainly give the throne a great deal of support for future needs," Lord Swann said, who had remained silent this entire time. "Given how long it will take to bring Dorne into the fold, there's no telling how many lords will need to be won over."
"Yet it remains to be seen if it will come to pass," Lord Selmy said. "Enacting a law for a kingdom is not the same as enacting one under the authority of the Iron Throne. Even if every Stormlord agreed to such a law, there is no telling if all the lords of the kingdoms would accept it, let alone abide by it. I have heard rumor of more isolated lords yet practicing First Night, even if the good queen Alyssane had that custom banned over a century ago."
Lord Caron snorted. "I for one think what House Greycairn and Galewood did was foolish, and even if a law were put in place, it is likely other lords would still do what they did, and perhaps pay the same price for it."
I was silent as the others descended into varied discussions on laws and succession in uncertain times. I had corresponded with Baelor often these past few years, and now that I had children of my own, ensuring such laws could be passed and accepted was a growing concern of mine. Had I died before my daughter's birth, my sister Arenna would have been my heir, and she would have needed a second son from Adam Selmy to carry on the Wytch name. How ironic, that she would have faced the same problem my Mylenda did with the Windhall name.
I sighed. I did not want to leverage my friendship with the prince to enact laws that would benefit only myself, and while they would help many other houses in the long run, I knew it was primarily for my own benefit. Were Mylenda and I unable to have a son, then my little Argella would become my heir, and the Windhall name would be lost with my wife's death. My own name would be lost as well if my daughter married and bore only daughters. Gods, while I knew it had happened on occasion in other kingdoms, I doubt even the Stormlords would abide by my daughter being arranged a matrilineal marriage. With every kingdom bearing such a diverse array of laws, sometimes varying even within the same kingdom, the future of my house now rested on the arrival of a son, who then needed to survive until he could have children of his own.
Rubbing my face in exhaustion and knowing full well just how busy my next few days were likely to be, I rose from my chair and bid the lords goodnight. Yet as I made to depart, Lord Selmy met me halfway, just far enough that we wouldn't be overheard.
"With Houses Greycairn and Galewood extinct, and with none left with a suitable claim, I believe it is only a matter of time before Lord Baratheon advances you from the steward of those lands to their rightful lord."
"Aye, perhaps someday," I replied.
"Rather fortuitous, if I do say," the older lord whispered. "It'd increase the size of your holdings considerably. One would almost think you planned such a thing."
I gave him a tired smile, seeing a musing where others might see a threat. "Yet not even a man as smart as many think I am could have accounted for a monster beneath the sands of Dorne doing away with two houses who had almost wronged me in the past."
"Aye, that they almost did. The Seven clearly favor you, my lord, else the houses that did yours wrong, or nearly did, would not have suffered as they did. First Craggner, then Wyl, and now Greycairn and Galewood. One would almost think it a conspiracy, if not for the facts I know."
"Such as?"
Lord Selmy smiled, reminding me a bit of Lord Windhall's kindlier demeanor. "Despite your fierceness, you are a good and godly man my lord, better than most would think you to be. You do right by your house, your lands, and by the houses you have dealings with, all in the name of progress that even I cannot fully conceive of. I would rather ally my house to yours through marriage in the hopes some of that clearly divine blessing rubbed off on my house and lands, rather than stand opposed to you as the foolish Fossoway and Darklyn currently are. Should you find no worthy hands for Shyra, come to me. I am certain that with my word as aid, more than a few worthy lordlings might be found for your sister to wed."
I nodded in thanks. I knew I'd made a good decision linking myself with House Selmy, and even now, it continued to pay dividends. I could only hope that such a relationship would not sour in the future and would do all I could to ensure such a continued success. "As long as the man I find is both a good match and good for my sister's wellbeing, I care not if he is an heir or the third spare. As for my daughters?" I asked.
"Well, I am certain once they come of age, you'll have to be fending off suitors with that flail of yours. Who knows what houses that House Wytch will tie itself to in the next five and ten years?" He stifled a yawn before clapping me on the shoulder. "Good night, Lord Wytch, and good luck in the tourney."
"Good night, Lord Selmy, and to your good fortune as well."