Chapter 69: Kings Landing VIII
Early 162 AC
Even as it was held outside to accommodate for the sheer number of guests, the area reserved for the king's court was crammed tighter than the illicit goods in a smuggler's den, the last of the tourney's events finally completed the day before. It was to be the crowning jewel of the greatest series of tourneys held in generations, a celebration of a resurgent House Targaryen in the aftermath of the Conquest of Dorne and the establishment of the Seven Kingdoms. The unparalleled amount of food, drink, and entertainment to surround the court's attendees was to be the stuff of legends no doubt, as perhaps not since the Great Council in the time of Jaehaerys had there been such a gathering of lords great and small.
It was well that their midday meal had been served, with the finest dishes and drinks from across Westeros and beyond being partaken in by the gathered court. Wines from the Reach and Dorne, Riverlands-style caviar and suckling pig, Northern aurochs smoked until beyond tender, roasted Vale duck and waterbirds, the increasingly popular whiskey and brandy of the Stormlands, and so much more filled the bellies and bladders of everyone attending, some more than others given their abrupt rushes to the nearest privy. As it stood, as the last vestiges of leftover food and drink were carted off, to be given to the city's smallfolk for their stews as a show of the king's generosity on his nameday, the young dragon, Daeron, First of His Name, arose from his temporary yet ultimately exquisite throne, the sated murmurs of the crowd dying quickly.
"Lords and ladies of the realm, today is an auspicious one, the greatest in generations!" he cried, much to the crowd's replying approval, though they settled quickly as he raised a hand. "As your king, the king of these now seven kingdoms, united under one throne and one crown, it is my honor, as first of my name, to bestow upon our gathered masses the rewards they and their houses have so thoroughly earned during these past few days. Let these victors and honorees come forth!"
Naerys quietly sipped from her glass of juice, gently holding little Vaella on her lap as her son Daeron watched in rapt silence as the procession proceeded. Her kingly cousin had thoroughly planned for the number of events and their awards, dipping well into his personal coffers to fund most of them himself. He had never been one to focus on finance much, even less than she had, but knowing where his coins flowed had become important after reading through the ledgers of Baelor on the reconstruction of the Dragonpit. Likely, as she believed, because he did not wish to beggar the Iron Throne through grandstanding generosity, for even a resurgent house could become undone by one incompetent ruler.
Naerys watched in silence as the awards were handed out, politely clapping whenever the winners came forth, making note here and there of whom she did not believe would handle their sudden good fortunes, and those who would be wise with their gains. Gold and silver alike filled the hands and purses of the winners of the melee, archery, javelin toss and numerous other sports of martial strength and skill. From across the kingdoms and the sea they had come, from the lowest yeoman to the greatest scions of great houses, their skills had been put to the test, and from it had emerged a crop of victors whose feats would be spoken of for years to come, no doubt.
It was a tiring thing to simply witness, but she remained silent with her children as her husband mingled among the many gathered lords and ladies. Were it not for her children, perhaps she would have as well, but in events like these, the wet-nurses and maids would mar the image her cousin was trying to present of a royal court. Still, at least her seat was comfortable as she clapped once more for the rewards of another contest.
Yet she was surprised when the announcement came for those whose singing had earned them a place as entertainment for the final feast of the evening. She had expected the usual errant Essosi to be among them, but no, all were of Westerosi or had dwelled in Westeros all their lives, from local minstrels and mummers to ones who had come as far as the Westerlands. Still, it was nothing terribly interesting, or so she thought before she heard a familiar name called to come forth.
"Lord Casper, of House Wytch of the Stormlands!"
That had gotten the crowds murmuring as the young lord appeared before the gathered host, bowing before the king as the captain handed him the key signifying the trunk of coin he had won.
"It seems I find you in my presence more and more these days, Lord Wytch," King Daeron said with a chuckle, much of which was echoed by guards and Lord Wytch himself.
"My king, I had never intended for our paths to cross so often, lest people think I seek royal favor," the lord said with a shrug. "Yet of all I could endure, being in the presence of a young and just king is something I would gladly bear, as I take it as a sign our kingdoms under the Iron Throne shall grow and prosper."
"Fair words, Lord Wytch, fair words from a young house to a young king, for that is a hope we should all strive to carry in our hearts," Daeron said from atop his temporary throne. "Tell me, Lord Wytch, come tonight, what songs will you regale my court with, hmm? I cannot imagine many have heard tales of your songs from the war, even these years later."
"Indeed my king, many such songs have their own time and place, and not all may find them to their liking, of which I bear no insult, for free men and women such as us are free to like and dislike as we please," the young lord said. "As for tonight, my king, I shall bear no cheek, I shall sing songs that many here, even amongst those I consider friends and allies, have never heard before. Long have I written and rewritten these songs, to ensure they are of quality, and that those that listen to them may find them as enjoyable as they are memorable. For is that not the purpose of many songs? To ensure they are remembered, either as the song or of what they sing, in a manner that invokes feelings in one's heart and soul?"
"Indeed, though flowery those words may be, their message yet remains true," the king said. "I shall have my men summon you before the feast to prepare those who shall sing with you, lest the potential discordance ruin our appetites."
Lord Wytch bowed out amongst the chattering and odd chuckles of the gathered, Naerys gently moving her fingers through her daughter's hair for comfort. Such large crowds never used to bother her, but with the closeness her cousin had built with Lord Wytch, it would not take long for other houses, of either sound mind or outlandish goals, to attempt the same with whatever Targaryen they could. None of her ladies in waiting, or of her inner circle, had alluded to such, but it would not be impossible for them to be pressured to do so.
Then her cousin stood, and the crowd resumed its reverent silence.
"Lords and ladies of Westeros, guests from far and near!" he cried out. "Long have so many of you pledged loyalty to the Iron Throne, the throne upon which my ancestor, the Conqueror himself, sat after uniting lands that had warred for generations. Just as long has my house awarded loyalty in innumerable ways, from positions on the Small Council, to positions of Hand, elevation of status, to bequeathing lands and riches rightfully your own! Yet in these past three generations, this noble tradition has fettered and been drowned by the ambitions and squabbles of lesser men and women, those who sought to tear us apart, rather than strive to keep us united and prosperous!"
Even the king's speech could not contain the hushed whispers that spread throughout the gathered court. Naerys knew where this was headed, their entire house had been prepared for this day in some way or another, but to see something that would be history in the making, happening before her very eyes, even her preparation could not hold back the excitement and anticipation she felt, just as did the rest of the court.
"As such," King Daeron continued. "With the unification of the continent, and Dorne coming further and further into the fold, as my personal guests can attest to, it is high time that rewards left idle, and deeds left unpraised, be brought to the light once more, and given their rightful due! Lord Tully, step forth!"
Naerys noted that though the red of his hair had been almost entirely replaced by dry silver, Kermit Tully stood as proud and strong as he had in the stories her father had told her. To think he was nearing his fiftieth nameday, and yet despite that age, he had also led the fight in Dorne among his bannermen as he had for her uncle during the Dance. Twas a shame about his brother Oscar, though, to have succumbed to old wounds from his time among the Stormbreakers.
"Yes, my king," the man said, kneeling before Daeron without a sign of discomfort, another sign to Naerys this lord had the decency to take care of himself into his later years. Hopefully her father would do the same so his time with her children would not be cut short by the Stranger's grasp.
"Kermit Tully of Riverrun, long has your house shown loyalty to me and mine own, beginning from the very day the Conqueror liberated the Riverlands from the grip of the Hoares and Edmyn Tully swore himself to my ancestor. For that loyalty, House Tully was raised from one of many strong and storied Riverland houses to Lord Paramount of the Trident, and soon after served as Hand of the King. Yet the words of House Tully, my lord, what are they?"
"Family, Duty, Honor, my king," the man replied.
"Indeed, for it was for the sake of his family that Edmyn Tully offered his resignation to the Conqueror after the death of his wife in childbirth. For a man to so love his family as to readily resign from one of the most powerful seats in the kingdoms? Truly remarkable, my lord. Yet his did his duty in that time, repairing much of the damage done by the Hoares to the Riverlands and helping to bring peace to the kingdoms. Yet his duty has been repeated often by House Tully, as you yourself did on behalf of my father, going against the wishes of your great grandsire in whom to support during the Dance, and succeeding your father at nine and ten after his sudden death."
One of the Targaryen captains appeared by Daeron's side, a fine cloth covering the wealth that lay beneath. Naerys had long spoken with both Baelor and Daeron on whom to award what weapon and was grateful her insights had been genuinely taken into consideration, something her husband… could never seem to bring himself to do. Indeed, from the corner of her eye, she saw at least one of the unwed ladies of the realm giggling as he whispered something to her.
"So at last that leaves honor, my lord," Daeron said. "Yet while some may say honor is its own reward, in service to the Iron Throne in two wars, including holding the field at the Battle of the Kingsroad and leading the charge against Dornish raiders and armies alike these past years, outpacing men half your own age no doubt, it is my honor to present you with this," he said, and with a flourish, whipped away the fine cloth and held aloft a sword, the sheath of fine leather banded by shining steel. With another flourish, amidst the gasps of the crowd, the king withdrew one of the treasures Baelor had found beneath the sands of Dorne.
A longsword of Valyrian steel, the smoky sheen of the blade coming to an end upon a crossguard and handle, the texture of the latter glimmering like the fish scales of the Tully banner it so skillfully recreated. To think of how much gold her kingly cousin had pulled from his own coffers for the finest smiths in Kings Landing, firstly to work the non-Valyrian portions of every weapon and then to keep a vow of silence until they were presented to their intended recipients. Truly, those that had earned the king's patronage would not lack apprentices or business for years to come. Who in their right mind would pass over a smith that had partaken in a project issued by the king himself?
Lord Tully, for the first time she had seen him, seemed too stunned for words, gingerly raising his hands to accept the sword and its sheath as the king bequeathed it upon him with a smile.
"It has yet no name we know of, for it sat in silence long beneath the sands of Dorne, a treasure wasting away from the hands of men who deserved its touch. Yet it is fitting, perhaps, that this sword has neither name nor deeds attached to it. Let it be that House Tully gives this sword a fitting name, and performs great deeds with it in hand, so as to be remembered for generations to come."
The chattering amongst the gathered crowd had become a low rumble at this revelation, with many envious stares following Lord Tully, many of them Riverlords, as he returned to his party, a proud smile on his face Naerys doubted even death could wash away. Daeron, meanwhile, nodded to another guard, and looked back to the crowd.
"Desmond of House Manderly," the king said, his eyes moving quickly to the group of Northmen. "How fares Lord Manderly these days?"
The rather large Northman appeared before him, his features rather impassive. "He was unable to attend in person, my king," the man said, thumping a fist to his chest with a bow. "My cousin mentioned the foul air of the city being too likely to cause him trouble."
"Indeed, this city did cause your lord trouble, ser," Daeron said. "I cannot truly apologize for the mistakes of the dead, but I truly believe the dismissal of Torrhen Manderly by my father was unwise. Many men, in the heat of passions, may make mistakes that can harm them or the standing of their houses, be it insulting an ally, mocking an honorable man, partaking in summons that are not their own, or dismissing capable men in their service without just cause."
Naerys turned away from Lord Darklyn, whose complexion seemed to grow rather ill for some reason as the king continued.
"Torrhen Manderly served my father faithfully as regent and as a soldier for my grandmother before him, all the while refusing to grasp power as others might have and indeed some did. My father repaid his loyalty and commitment to House Targaryen by stripping him of his position as Hand and dismissing him alongside the other regents. Such a blow would sting anyone, least of all a house whose daughters were once promised to my uncle before his death. Let it be known then, as your king, I cannot right all the wrongs of the past between our houses, but in this instance, I believe I can be a better man than my father was, and reward House Manderly with this."
Naerys could not hide her smile as the shocked gasps echoed once more, the Valyrian trident far too large to hide as easily as the sword, and given how the Manderly looked upon it with great shock, was it any wonder she had been most adamant of this reward going to this house? A mermaid of Valyrian beauty just barely emerged from the mythical steel, her features exuding a cold sort of joy as she seemingly had frozen mid-leap from the smoky surface. Whomever had had this commissioned however many centuries ago had made certain it would be a weapon to be remembered.
Daeron continued as he approached the Northman, who seemed too stunned to reply. "I am told the Manderlys not only have a trident upon their sigil, even after all their time in the North, but it is also the preferred weapon for the guards that patrol the northernmost city in the Seven Kingdoms. While this shall not be for a mere city guard, but for an ancient and proud house, may it serve House Manderly well, and serve as a reminder to us all that while the past may guide our present, it will not always dictate our future," her cousin said, handing it to the stunned Northman, his former calm shattered like thin ice upon the hull of a heaving Ibbenese whaling ship.
Naerys turned at a noise to her side, to see her son fidgeting with the hem of his finery. With a practiced hand, she stopped him from fraying his clothes and leaned close. "Daeron? What is the matter?"
"When is Lord Royce going to be called?" he whispered. "Lamination is rightfully theirs."
"Lamentation, sweetling, and they shall be called, worry not," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his silvery curls. "The entire realm will see it returned to its rightful owners, but remain quiet, it would not do to spoil the surprise."
"But Big Daeron said they were going to hold onto the other ones for later. What if he holds onto Lamination?"
Naerys softly shook her head. Her boy's heart was in the right place, but he worried about things that a child should not. Hopefully he could be distracted later with her cousin's new puppy, so long as they didn't pull on the excitable things' ears. "He'll do no such thing, my little dragon. The king may be many things, but he is as much of a thief as I am a rotten turnip."
Turning back to the crowd, she immediately noticed how, as Ser Manderly returned to his stunned and far more supportive Northman compared to Lord Tully's bannermen, the rest of the room was now in a true frenzy of excitement. Finding and gifting one Valyrian weapon to a house was unheard of, but to do the same with two, and the king graciously apologizing for the misdeeds of his predecessor in one fell swoop? That would be the talk of the realm for years to come. She had argued for handing out every weapon that they determined would serve their purposes best, but seeing the looks of the Rivermen and the envy of other houses, likely those feeling they were more worthy, she was glad her kingly cousin had dismissed that portion of her ideas.
She especially did not miss the gleam in the eye of Lord Lannister as he looked upon Lord Tully.
"Now, my lords, as your king I must say that more such treasures were found by my brother beneath the sands of Dorne," the king said, raising a hand to preemptively calm the crowd. "Yet of those many treasures, I agree with my brother that whilst they may be in our possession, many of them are not truly our own to have, but to merely… hold onto for the time being. Such gifts are meant only for those who have given the greatest of services to my house in its time of need, especially if said house has no such weapon of my ancestral lands of their own. Other great and wondrous gifts we have claimed for ourselves from what remained of that treasure hoard, yes, but rest assured, my lords and ladies, in time these icons of prestige may one day be claimed by the worthiest of hands."
Naerys did not miss the calculating look enter Lord Lannister's eyes, mirrored by perhaps half the assembled lords of every kingdom across Westeros. To think that her cousin was playing such a dangerous game, openly stating that the worthy could achieve these for their own houses. In her heart she knew that if done poorly, these same encouraging words would provoke resentment among those that thought they had done more and received what they deemed lesser, or worse, drive houses to attempt great feats with blind ambition and hunger for glory, only for it to all come crashing down upon their heads.
"As it may be, there will yet be opportunities for such achievements, my lords," King Daeron continued. "One only must look to mine own brother, prince of the realm and my heir. He has taken it upon himself to work alongside Lord Baratheon during his fostering, overseeing the construction of roads, bridges, and rebuilding lands that have been fallow since the Conquest itself. Some might decry this as beneath the notice of a prince, but I say nay!" he cried for effect. "My brother, in his time, has only done what he can to serve the realm of his foster father, our own house, and these kingdoms. He sees this as his duty, to ensure the continued prosperity and growth our kingdoms and peoples."
Naerys halted her smile as the court listened with rapt attention to the king as he continued, crafting a story before her very eyes. This… had not been part of the plan she remembered. Just what was he doing?"
"… and so it was, my lords and ladies, that my brother took it upon himself, not only to reform the goldcloaks into a proper guard for this city and the lands around it alongside the Master of Laws, but also to see to the health of this great city! Long had it languished under the care of men and women preoccupied with matters far greater than even itself. Yet this city of kings, a city worthy of the splendor of House Targaryen, bore within it a great secret that none knew of, save for the gods themselves, both old and new. It was here, in the ruins of my house's greatest legacy, that my brother was inspired to rebuild the Dragonpit. Many of you may have seen the workers moving around the great ruin, but I tell you, it shall not remain a ruin for long! For as my brother seeks to rebuild it, for this city to be reborn from the dust and ashes of war and strife, so too will our now Seven Kingdoms be reborn under my reign!"
Even as they listened in rapt attention, Naerys could not help but fret that her cousin's speech was beginning to stray from whatever path he had originally set it on. Quietly, she shushed her son once more, Little Daeron's fidgeting increasing even more than before, mirroring her own that she had long ago learned to manage.
"For you see, my lords and ladies of the realm, now that Dorne has been brought under the rule of the Iron Throne, we must not falter in our strive towards a better future, just as my brother explored Kings Landing itself to rebuild what had rotted and buckled under the stresses of war and misuse. I say this, to the lords of the Vale, for how long have your ancestral houses suffered under the depredations of the mountain clans? To the lords of the North, how long have your people been destroyed or carried off by barbarians north of the Wall? To the Vale, Stormlands, Reach, and even the Dornish among us, for how long have pirates raided our coasts, pillaging and enslaving as they went? For too long, I say!"
There was a low roar of approval from the crowd, the energy filling the room even greater than before, for it was not just smallfolk that had suffered at the hands of barbarians, slavers, and the Vale clans.
"So it is with great pride," Daeron said, the guards approaching him with an unassuming crate, much unlike the gifts of before. "That today is the day I announce my next intention for my kingship. To the lords of the Vale under the great and honorable House Arryn, a line whose blood I carry in my veins through my great grandmother, Aemma Arryn, I intend to bring to heel those mountaineering devils that have so long plagued your lands since the coming of the Andals. To think of how many men and women have been taken captive or killed by these beasts wearing the skins of men, from the lowliest shepherd's wife to the greatest lords, including the great Rodrik Arryn's own father? I say no more!"
That got a good cheer from the crowd, especially from the Vale lords. Indeed, before today, Naerys had read as much on the Vale alongside her cousin as she could, as it had been part of the stipulation for attending his meeting with Baelor to discuss the last great gift of the day. Better to know their history and how they would respond, as the continued survival and raiding of these clansmen was seen as an insult upon the honor of their houses and their oaths.
"To that, I must say, Lord Royce, come forth!"
The cheering and excitement stuttered somewhat as a confused hush fell over the court, the lord in question slowly emerging from his throng of fellows to stand before the king. Yet before he could say anything, the king's gaze drifted swiftly across the room, before settling on the man whose house had once married their grandfather through Rhea Royce.
"Lord Royce, the words of your house?"
"We Remember, my king."
"Indeed, and we in House Targaryen have not forgotten the losses of many fine Vale lords and ladies since the Conquest. Yet through fire and war, storm and ice, the Vale have answered our calls time and time again, and I say it is time to repay this loyalty however we can. Yet it shall not only be repaid, but returned in kind, for as my brother dug through the remains of the Dragonpit, history once lost has been found again!"
With a flourish greater than any before, the king opened the crate and, reaching within, retrieved an heirloom none had seen since the Storming of the Dragonpit, used by the hands of thieving lesser men to slay the last of the dragons. An ancient sword of Valyrian steel, storied and revered by its house, inscribed with runes few could speak, and even fewer could read.
Lamentation.
The silence that gripped the area was so sudden, Naerys feared that her ears had failed her, and she had gone deaf. Yet she could hear the soft footfalls of her king as he approached Lord Royce, the older man dropping to his knees in reverential shock, barely able to catch himself from falling over completely.
"It is high time, Lord Royce, that Lamentation be used once more for the cause of its house, and to those whom the Royces pay homage. Take your family sword, my lord, for it will be needed in the days to come, and let it be known that this blade will once again sing in the winds of the Vale."
As gingerly as if he were receiving his firstborn infant son, tears starting to leak from his weathered eyes, Lord Royce bowed deep, his breathing deep as the weight of the sword and sheath settled into his hands. Then the lord's words of thanks were lost, for as suddenly as they had fallen silent, the crowd erupted into cheers and roars of approval, the likes of which not even the final jousts had earned.
(Line break)
Truly, never in her life had Naerys witnessed a feast such as this. The Red Keep had already been filled to the brim with lords, ladies, and foreign dignitaries after the end of the outdoor ceremonies, but now, with the tables groaning beneath the heaps of food and drink, her initial fears that their guests would have been packed tighter than a nest of rats was, thankfully, unfounded. Indeed, even at the high table, with the entire Targaryen family surrounded by notable guests, it was perhaps the liveliest the Red Keep had been since the days of her grandmother's youth. As fine as the food and drink had been during the great midday meal after the tourney's end, this was grander yet, whetting the appetites and thirst of everyone in attendance. Yet even with the many, many attendees and guests partaking in this finest of food and drink, some of it known, some new, and others strange creations on behalf of her cousin Baelor from his time in the Stormlands, a part of her was thankful that her husband had decided to… mingle with the lords and ladies of the feast, rather than stay by her side and 'their' children.
After all, the woman sitting close to her would have undoubtedly drawn his eye away from his family had he stayed by their side, and only served to dishonor her more than he already had.
"Lady Jordayne," she began slowly, the woman's silence seeming less from her hating Naerys herself, but more from the… newness of where she was. Not many Dornish had graced the Red Keep since its inception, after all, save for the few times her ancestors had looked to integrate Dorne through a proposed-yet-ultimately-futile marriage here or there. As it was, her family was one of the few in Dorne who had needed to send only her younger brother as a hostage as opposed to several family members, as the king had vouched for the lord in his surrender. Lord Baratheon likewise had offered further support in that the lord's lands were among the safest under his governorship, even compared to the other lands under his authority, a likely sign the lord had taken better to the integration of Dorne than others.
"Yes, princess?" the woman replied.
"How fare you here, in Kings Landing?"
"Well enough, though I could do without the stench of the city," the woman replied, plucking a ripe grape from her plate and chewing it softly. "My father was quite grateful for the king's invitation to attend the feast as guests and not as hostages."
Yes, Naerys supposed that would be enjoyable, given the numbers of those hostages she had seen attending the tournament. Not many, and all but the youngest had been under quite watchful guards, and even then the nannies had been running ragged keeping up with the more… excitable little ones. Why some of the attending lords had brought such young children to a tournament was quite odd to her, as her excuse was that she was part of the royal family and it was all being held in Kings Landing anyway. Theirs? She was unsure, but perhaps it had something to do with her cousin's plan of intermarrying outside houses into the Dornish houses to help prevent rebellion.
"I take it some of the Dornish dishes are from Jordayne lands?"
"Yes, primarily eastern Dornish dishes, though we managed to bring around some of the more western ones as well, even though some of the ingredients, according to the cooks, were in shorter supply. I was surprised to partake in these 'Dornished eggs' I have heard about," Allyria replied, picking up one of the foods in question. "Quite delicious, I must say, even if it is not quite as spicy as I would prefer."
Naerys nodded politely. "I am afraid many do not have the climate to grow spices in the rest of Westeros, Lady Jordayne, or at least the kind that lend heat to their flavor. I can tolerate a small amount of it, but anything past a certain point is entirely unpalatable to me and my children."
"Ah yes, your children. Daeron and Vaella, yes?"
"Yes, Lady Jordayne," her son replied politely, looking up to her with a smile. "I like your dress, is that turpentine gold?"
"Tourmaline, and yes, little Daeron, as it is the color of the quill that marks my house's sigil," the young woman replied.
"What are your house's words?" her son asked as several people moved to the large stage arranged for the feast, the music dying away as new instruments were brought forth.
"It is Written," Allyria replied, before glancing over to the stage. "Princess, who is that?"
Naerys turned to see a familiar face amongst the gathered minstrels and singers, a series of smallfolk following his instructions as they arranged themselves. "That would be Lord Wytch, Lady Jordayne, a lord of the Stormlands."
"Lord Wytch, did you say?"
Her tone seemed an odd combination of fear and intrigue. Then again, few lords in Dorne had met the Wytch and lived to tell the tale or emerge unscathed, or so the stories were already beginning to imply. "Yes, the winner of the king's singing contest. I am surprised you did not recognize his name during the ceremony."
"I missed a portion before Lord Tully received his Valyrian sword, I was indisposed with the monthly troubles of women," their guest replied as the feasting died down, perhaps just enough to hear the coming singing. "He looks… younger than I would have expected."
"Indeed, five and twenty or so were I to guess, but this should be interesting. He recently gave my children and I quite a fine tome filled with stories, none of which I recall having ever heard of before. I can only wonder what sort of songs he will-,"
Then Lord Wytch began, and while he was not the… best singer she had ever heard, just above average perhaps, it was not his voice that began to silence the hall, but the song itself, one Naerys had never heard before.
He was born in a nameless valley, in the early mountain rain,
Wild geese o'er the water, headed north and home again,
Bringin' the warm wind from the south, bringin' the first taste of the spring…
Well, this was certainly an odd song, and yet… it spoke to her, bringing about an odd feeling in her heart. Was it heartening, to hear of a man who had returned to his home in Westeros, after trying to find his way elsewhere? Or was it pride she felt, that the man in question, nameless as the valley of his birth, returned to his home because he could not leave it, for he loved it so?
The song ended too early for her liking, not for the length of it, but because she enjoyed it, and wished to hear it again. The applause for the song was scattered, polite, though Naerys herself did not applaud, and then Allyria leaned closer to her, her voice low as she looked over at Baelor's friend.
"I was under the impression that Stormlords are more of the boorish type, yet Lord Wytch… isn't?"
"Well, I wouldn't say all of them are boorish, a more apt trait would be stubborn, given the lands in which they live and must strive to thrive in. Yet Lord Wytch is by no means not a Stormlord, Lady Jordayne, he is simply a… unique one, I suppose one could say. Yet I do wonder if any of his songs will be of the bawdier style that his fellow Stormlords seem to more enjoy."
Every mornin' in the yard you could see him arrive,
Half a hand taller than any guard alive,
Was as broad as an oxen and built like a ship,
And our good lord said to never give any lip,
To Big Jon…
Well, this one was certainly different. Naerys couldn't say she enjoyed it as she had the first song, but it did rhyme well, and to be fair, a story of a guard summoning strength well beyond that of mortal man was nothing new. Yet for him to do so, in order to save the lives of his lord's fleeing family in an escape tunnel, only to let it come crashing down once they had escaped and their pursuers had rushed into the tunnel after them? Any man who did such a feat would surely have his family be taken care of for life, if not elevated for such a great deed. Come to think of it, was this an allegory to Lord Wytch's own grandfather's sacrifice, or was that a coincidence?
As the song finished, amidst quite a bit more clapping from the Stormlords and, surprisingly, the North, she spied the king rise from his chair and smile. "Lord Wytch!" he said, his voice no more a shout than during their dinner, yet his voice silenced whatever muted conversations had been continuing through the music. "I commend you for your musical talent, for it is rare that a song be heard by so many that few, if any of them have heard before!"
"Thank you, my king, for while any such song may be crafted over time with great care, were it not for the other minstrels and their instruments with me, I fear these would be less than worthy to grace the halls of the Red Keep."
"Indeed, but I have a question, Lord Wytch. Far be it from me to stifle creativity, especially where good and memorable songs are the product of such diligent craftsmanship, but I recall a song my brother told me of, one I believe you sang during your journey into Dorne and the Undersand as it is called. Do you recall this song?"
"Ah, yes my king, I believe the prince would have referred to it as Red Destrier?"
"Yes, that one, sing it for us if you will."
"Yes, my king."
Naerys resisted the urge to roll her eyes, once again her cousin bringing the attention to himself during the feast, when he should be enjoying his food and the company of their family, not grandstanding as he had done during the ceremony before.
Ride on the long way, ride on along,
Ride on father 'til you get back home…
"I like this one," Allyria suddenly said beside her, her foot tapping in time to the rhythm, something Naerys didn't realize her own foot was doing until she saw Allyria's. "A song to remind a family to pray for their husband and father to return safely under their lord's call to action, and the worry it can cause. Too often many men do not return from war, so to hear of one returning despite the family believing the worst has befallen him is refreshing. Far too many songs are of pitiful or sad things these days."
"Indeed," Naerys said, stilling her tapping foot as the song ended amongst a great number of cheers. Evidently others had heard of this song, given how more than a few seemed to be mirroring the tempo as she had.
"If only the men that did not return were of the quality that the kingdoms could do without," the Dornishwoman added. "The likes of which bring ruin on those who have neither attacked nor threatened them, but do so merely for their own selfish desires, be it plunder, glory, or for the bloodshed itself."
Naerys wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but thankfully she didn't have to, for Lord Wytch's next song captured her attention.
Well I've heard Essosi minstrels singin' 'bout how they can love,
Deeper than the oceans, higher than the stars above…
Was this… was this a song for his wife? Lords she had heard sing tended not to sing about love, at least not about how it compared to other things in life, and especially not in front of such distinguished guests. Yet given the emotional looks of many of the noble ladies of the court, the lord was giving them something to think on, and as much as she did not wish to admit it, Naerys was likely thinking along those same lines.
Did her husband love her as Lord Wytch did his wife? Baelor had told her they seemed to care deeply for one another, much more than some of the other lords he'd met in his travels. Naerys did not believe Aegon loved her as she wished, but there had to be a love there, somewhere, even if she had long forsaken it for that which she felt with Aemon. Was this how Aemon felt for her then, and thusly suffered for it, for them to be forced to be apart due to her loveless marriage and their brother's jealous, petty spite? Oh, how many times had she wished Aemon had not been coerced to take the white cloak, and that their father had found a bride for Aegon that was not herself.
At the end, the first to clap was not her, nor Allyria, nor even the noble ladies of the court. Turning in shock, even as other claps arose quite quickly afterwards, it was the dowager queen that smiled widely, wiping away what could only be a tear or two from her eyes. She'd not seen her aunt cry in… well, since the king's funeral.
Yet as the feasting and singing continued intermittently, the lords and ladies becoming progressively less inhibited due to full bellies and drinks of varying strength, Lord Wytch did not seem any less able to bring the realm into different states of emotion. Loathe as she was to admit it, even her husband seemed to be enjoying some of them whilst he mingled with lords and ladies… even if Aegon was so deep into his cups he would likely not remember this night well.
Well, she would at the least, even after the maids had taken her sleepy children to bed, and she discussed a great deal of things with Lady Jordayne, mostly about Dorne and the lands along the Tor, all the while her cousin's friend continued his songs.
Of a maiden of House Farrow, whose true love perished of a broken heart after her untimely death falling from a horse. A good number of Reach lords seemed confused on how to react to this, either by politely applauding or with melancholy remembrance of tales like this in their own lands. House Farrow seemed especially pleased with the song, and Lord Wytch would no doubt have another lord seeking to speak with him on private matters come morning.
Then came how Lord Wytch would save all of time in a great bottle of crystal, if only to spend more time with his lady wife, despite all the distractions and duties that would be foisted upon him if he did so. Naerys was proud to say she did not cry, despite wishing she her own marriage carried with it such feelings, but comfortingly patted Lady Jordayne's hand as she softly cried, as apparently the song reminded her of her father's love for her mother.
This followed a rather catchy song of how Lord Wytch was told by the Seven-Who-Are-One to do their will, to let it be known to long-tongue liars and their ilk that the gods would cut them down for their transgressions. The Vale and Riverlords seemed to enjoy that one quite well, especially the Vale lords, and she saw her father, perhaps begrudgingly, nodding along in either approval or in thought at the lyrics.
Then came the Battle of Winterfell against the great Night King eons ago, a song that had the lords of the North stomping in approval amongst their cheers so hard, it was a wonder their tables didn't shake themselves to pieces or their benches snap beneath them.
A song without music to it, relying entirely on the voices of other minstrels interjecting in specific points, on how a lord's mother told him of his future, of purchasing a fine ship and sailing to distant shores to slay his enemies. The Ironborn that had attended the feast really liked this one, singing along with it after the very first verse, and surprisingly well at that.
Of a boy considered the coward of his lord's lands, only to stand up and deliver justice upon the men who savaged his wife. Many tables thumped under lord's fists in approval as this one ended.
A song of how the gods blessed Westeros, that it was a land he would proudly start over in should he lose everything save for his wife and children. Drunken cheers erupted across the hall as the song ended, and when she looked, Naerys could scarcely believe her king was among the cheering.
Then came the final song, of a nameless, weary traveler, a stranger seeking to return home to his father, mother and loved ones who had gone on already. This one brought her and Allyria to shared, silent tears, but by this point that might have also been the brandy speaking for them, as more than a few ladies and even lords displayed similar emotions. By the gods, even her cousin the king seemed rattled by the song, for as he stood up for what would hopefully prove to be the final time for that night, as Naerys was beginning to feel very tired and yearned for her bed, unafraid of her drunken husband awakening enough to find his way to it, the hall grew silent once more.
"As your king, I have one last announcement to give, my lords and ladies, before I am to retire for the night. It is my sworn vow to ensure that the succession crises of my grandmother's time, that in which so many of us and our houses, suffered greatly from. Long has there been talk within House Targaryen of succession, should terrible events come to pass, but worry not! For tonight, amongst the greatest feast in generations, in the aftermath of the greatest tourneys in living memory, I announce the betrothal of my brother and heir, Prince Baelor of House Targaryen-,"
Naerys inadvertently inhaled a sip of her brandy, her soft coughing drowned by the sudden buzz from the yet-conscious crowd. He was supposed to give this announcement tomorrow when the court was sober enough to remember it! Had he mirrored her husband and dove into his cups with abandon?
"-to our sister, Princess Daena of House Targaryen!"
Naerys turned to her cousins, as did the heads of most of the remaining lords and ladies with wildly different reasons, as far as Narys could tell. The lords seemed surprised, supportive, or somewhat upset by this news, likely because some had thought they could achieve a match with their son for the princess, or their daughter for the prince. The ladies of the court were even more expressive, with brief looks of despair, sorrow, and almost comically massive swaths of envy when their gazes fell upon Daena.
…whose expression was an odd combination of drunken befuddlement and giddy nervousness, which was so unlike her it bordered on unbelievable. Certainly, she would be quite wrothful with the king once she had achieved sobriety come morning, though how she would react was anyone's guess. Baelor seemed to accept this lifechanging announcement with the same stoic nature he had developed after the beginning of his fosterage, even with the flush on his cheeks from his drinking that night making him seem not quite as serious. Yet even with her own mind a touch fuzzy from her own drinking, Naerys swore she saw a determination in his eyes that bordered on intimidating, as if this were to be a duty greater than anything he had ever done before, almost as if it were the single most important thing House Targaryen would ever ask of him. Perhaps she should not have emphasized so much on the duties of a faithful husband, and let him be influenced by his more pious nature to achieve the goals her own husband refused for their marriage? After all, even with the betrothal, the marriage itself would surely be a few years away, once Daena had reached her majority or close to it…
"-so that I will hopefully have some nieces and nephews to dote on!" Daeron continued, Naerys realizing she had stopped paying attention to her cousin's speech long enough to not know whatever else he had been saying. Seven above, why did her cousin so thoroughly counteract the plans she had helped make? Was it the drink, or his pride causing him to do this? At least she could consider this good news, even if Dorne had not yet been fully integrated, a process which Baelor would soon take the reins of from Lord Baratheon upon reaching his majority. Well, from her talks with Allyria, things seemed to be progressing well in eastern Dorne, well enough that she did not quite fear the troubles her cousin had worried about initially. Though this did bring to question…
How was the west faring under Lord Tyrell?