Book 4: The Old, The True, The Brave
Olenna X
Olenna checked the face of the page delivering her refreshments and recognised him as one of the Rowan boys. Ever since Tywin Lannister's death four years ago everyone had made a point of bringing their own pages and checking who they accepted food from. It would take a long time to forget the Lion of Casterly Rock dying over weeks, surrounded by the great and occasionally even the good of all of Westeros.
"The Easterland stands are more crowded this year," noted Margaery from her seat beside her grandmother.
"Yes. It seems that more of the Stormland lords and knights are attending. Renly's marriage didn't please many of them."
"Because they wanted him to marry one of their daughters?"
"That and because they're no fonder of the Dornish than our southern lords are." Olenna sipped from her glass. The juice of fruits normally imported from the Summer Isle, although in this case they came from a glass garden near Storm's End. "Of course, now Cassana is old enough for an engagement to be discussed they have more interest in reminding him of their loyalty."
Below them more than two score knights were forming up in a circle for the melee. Colours from dozens of Houses were present, as well as the plainer colours of hedge knights and even the occasional sellsword. Two knights, wearing the colours of House Tyrell and House Tully raised their weapons in salute towards the Tyrell box.
Margaery waved back although it wasn't clear if it was to her brother or to her betrothed.
"Hmm. If he takes an injury that might set back the marriage."
The girl rolled her eyes. "Then his father and my father will make his life one of hell. King Robert might do the same, he seems quite pleased by the match."
"It's no deep love of either of our houses," Olenna told her. She hadn't spent enough time with her grand-daughter to be sure if she had more sense than her mother. Alerie Hightower wasn't notably any more sensible than her husband. "It's more a desperation to have Edmure marry someone - anyone - and continue the Tully line. Autumn isn't upon us yet but it can't be far off so he'd prefer not to have one of the most fertile kingdoms fall into civil war."
"Are the Riverlands that unstable?"
"Hoster Tully barely has heir and spare within the Tully name. The Blackfish is part of the Royal Guards and likely to remain that way, so no successors there. If Edmure doesn't put children in your belly, the next in succession to Riverrun will be the Starks. Young Robb Stark has the Tully looks but none of Catelyn's children are known in the Riverlands. Meanwhile, Walder Frey is ambitious and disliked, Tytos Blackwood remembers that his ancestors ruled the rivers and Jonos Bracken would die before he bends the knee to a Blackwood. Jason Mallister's position is rising with the western sea trade, but for that reason the Freys consider him a threat."
Margaery smiled. "It sounds just like the Reach."
"In all the bad ways. The Tullys need a strong hand as Hoster grows older. Edmure doesn't show promise in that area."
Another horn blew and the warriors in the arena shouted as they fell on each other. Foolishness, but a very common one. Olenna's eyes were no longer as sharp as they had once been but she could see that Loras and Edmure were fighting back to back. "Well, he recognises an alliance has merit. How many of those fighting alone remain, girl?"
"Few," Margaery admitted. "Oh! Ronnet Connington is down."
"Fool boy. Domeric Bolton dominated the jousts so Connington thinks he has to excel in the melee. Young Mya will have words for him on that topic."
"I like her, although she's rather blunt."
"Honesty isn't always a virtue. But she has sense, yes. Down at Griffin's Roost she'll do well. Cultivate Bella first though, she's better suited as a friend at court. Domeric Bolton would rise on his father's patronage even if he wasn't making his name in the joust. They'll be a formidable couple."
"Won't they be returning to the North?"
"There's no jousting in the North and little politics. No, I see them as staying south. The Dreadfort is a dreary place and the Boltons have few allies north of the Neck."
There was an outcry below and Olenna saw that Margaery's goodbrother had fallen to a fighter wearing the suns and crescents of Tarth. Loras had defeated his own foe but now he and the Tarth warrior were the only ones still standing. Both were weary and it showed as Loras' axe and his opponent's morning-star were swung with more abandon than art.
"Loras," hissed Margaery. "Up, Highgarden!" she called down the two, voice lost amonts the others. "Who is he fighting? I thought Lord Tarth had no sons."
"He has a daughter," Olenna replied thoughtfully. "Little courted for all the wealth of Evenstar Hall. Another dynastic problem for his grace, since the Tarths are significant - and loyal - bannermen."
There was a crash from below as the two knights collided and, weapons dropped either accidentally or on purpose, began to grapple with each other. Tabards tore and were rubbed in the dust until one, at last, managed to wrestle the other's visor open and...
There was a pained noise and the apparent victor rolled over, dropping the dagger he'd been about to menace his opponent with. Struggling upright, the fallen knight - the Tarth - planted a firm kick to Loras' helmet before a herald rushed out and pulled them away.
"But Loras had him! Uh, her?" Margaery said.
The arena's maester - a permanent appointment - was already heading efforts to recover and treat the other fallen but two stretcher-bearers began helping Loras off the sand.
"I'm hardly an armsmaster, Margaery. If I had to guess, I suppose some of his armour came loose in that rolling around they did." She smirked. "That might be the closest Brienne of Tarth has ever come to having a man in her bed."
Then trumpets rang out and the arena went quiet, audience all turning towards the royal box. Wearing his crown, Robert Baratheon stepped out onto the sand. It wasn't unexpected for him to do this for only three of the seven open places had been decided thus far, but the question was... who had he come for? He did not always select the victor in these contests, for martial excellence alone was not enough to catch his eye.
"Surely not?" murmured Margaery. "A woman."
"Talent," Olenna said crushingly, "Is where you find it."
The girl flushed.
Yet in the end she was somewhat vindicated, for the king had not come for one but two. Before the eyes of tens of thousands, including many of the greatest lords in Westeros, Brienne of Tarth and Loras Tyrell knelt (with a wince by Loras) and pledged themselves to seven years of service in the Royal Guards of House Baratheon.
Viserys X
The Windblown were marching. Viserys could feel the sun against his back, through his cloak and through his armour. He'd loosened the ties of his wargear as far as he dared. Not that he expected attack, they marched away from war not towards it, but carelessness could kill and the Tattered Prince kept close discipline.
The Usurper would have done the same. He might have made a good sellsword captain. Viserys thought it might have been better for House Targaryen if he had done that. Better for all others...? He shrugged. Here in Essos his name was recognised for three things: dragons, Westeros and the madness of his father.
He'd been to Volantis with the Windblown and his ancestry was recognised to let him into the Inner City, where only those with the blood of Valyria were allowed... where he was mocked as scion of a fallen house. A lineage tainted by outsider blood. His Blackwood great-grandmother. His Dayne great-grandmother. His Martell great-great-grandmother.
Aerys' madness they blamed on that blood. And also the death of Aerys' grandfather at Summerhall, in fire with his elder son and many others. Impurity, they said.
House Targaryen had ruled a continent, while the Volanteans lurked in their city ward!
Ah, they had said. But what do you rule now?
If he hadn't spent years choking down his anger in the face of the Usurper, he thought he might have killed every one of them he could reach. And then he would have died and with him all hopes for House Targaryen. So he had laughed. 'Do not judge a man until all his deeds are done', he had said and walked away.
Another horse jostled against his and stirred him back to the road.
"Thinking dark thoughts?" asked Bronn. The lowborn swordsman had been with the company longer than Viserys and alone of the Tattered Prince's lieutenants he hadn't shown resentment at the swift rise of the newcomer. That might be one of the reasons that he was perhaps the only man granted more responsibility in the company than Viserys. The other reasons were his resourcefulness, his sanguine temprement and his deadly sword arm.
"Volantis."
"Ah. A very wealthy city. They paid us well."
"We served them well."
"Aye. And now we ride away, those of us who aren't walking."
"The romance of the road," Viserys said and as both men laughed, he lifted his wineskin from where it hung off his saddlebow. He offered it to Bronn first, who took a measured swig before returning it.
"Better not drink too much," the older man warned. "It's a long road up the Rhoyne to Braavos."
"Is that where we're going?" Their commander had been cagey about the new contract, although he'd paid the men in full so they werre ready enough to follow him north.
"The company coffers had an infusion of fresh coin." Bronn tapped his nose. "The silver's the usual mix - coins minted everywhere from Qohor to King's Landing - but the gold... the gold has the Sealord's face. Ferrego Antaryon's face so it's been minted in the last few years. Who else has that much Braavosi gold?"
"Anyone who took a loan from the Iron Bank?" suggested Viserys. Although it was a fair point. The Iron Bank had currency from half the world and generally loaned out coin approrpriate to wherever the borrower would be spending them. It cut down arguements about the weighting and exact value of the coin loaned.
Bronn chuckled. "Well, I doubt we'll be heading across the Narrow Sea to fortify the wall, although your cousin seems to be hiring sellswords where he can to bolster the numbers there."
Viserys shook his head. "I can't see him getting much interest in that. I never went further north than the Neck and that was bad enough. The rest of the North must be worse."
"The Company of the Rose got an offer but it seems to mostly be individuals rather than entire companies taking him up on the offer."
"Don't tell me that the Company went back to the North?"
"No, they turned it down. I think Norvos made a better offer."
Viserys nodded. They'd fought alongside the Company of the Rose once and he'd gone drinking with a few of their men. It had been almost three hundred years now since their ancestors had left Westeros rather than follow Torrhen Stark's example in bending the knee to Aegon the Conquerer. Even now, some of them had been unwilling to drink with a descendant of Aegon.
"He's probably having trouble getting the lords to send their sons up north, even if it's just for a year or two. The first year or two after his Great Council it might have worked, but no Wilding invasion has appeared and now it looks more like hostage taking. Who would dare cause trouble if a good portion of their sons and sworn-swords are at the far end of Westeros and surrounded by men of the other kingdoms?"
"Aye, that's clever. Banking up trouble for another day."
"He is clever, which is why it surprises me. That and Renly's marriage. Too many of Robert's kin are wed to those he's swaying to his side and not enough to those who already supported him." Viserys realised he was still holding the wine and secured it to his saddle again.
"Well that's good for you. Remember me when you're back on your family's throne."
"My family's throne is several dozen breastplates now." He shot Bronn a tight smile. "But I promise to remember my good friend Bronn, drinker of my wine and... what else have you done for me lately?"
"Shown you where you were over-extending your sword-arm?"
Viserys glared at him and rubbed the arm in question. "Thank you for reminding me."