The Great Hall of the Red Castle was filled with a diverse crowd having fun: the royal family, lords, nobles, musicians, buffoons and actors. The banquet tables were filled with all kinds of dishes and drinks, the cacophony of music, laughter and hubbub pressed on the ear, and the impossible stuffiness and underwear stuck from sweat completed the picture. In a word, a feast. Yes, not a simple feast, but a royal one! However, the reason for the celebration was so–so - the fourth name day of the heir and the only son of the king's right hand, Robert Arryn. But His Majesty, as we well know, is a man of a broad soul, and he could not allow such an important day for the boy to pass faintly and not be remembered in any way. My older brother likes, knows how to plan military campaigns and drunkenness that is not much inferior to them in the field of potential destruction, and he practices very successfully.
- Your Majesty, - a bow to Robert, who has become quite drunk, who is already looking around the hall with a dazed and adventurous gaze, then a bow to the Queen and everyone else in turn, - Your Majesty, Your Highness, Lord Hand, Lady Arryn…
"Oh, fiance, snake tamer..." Robert laughed drunkenly, elbowing John, who was sitting next to him with a strained smile, but he immediately lost all interest in me as soon as he noticed the buxom peddler.
The royal family, as well as the family of the right hand, sat on a high platform at a distance from the rest of the tables. In the center, the king sprawled in an elaborately decorated armchair, with Cersei on his right. An elegant red dress with a truly Lanister abundance of gold jewelry and a cutout on the chest, the top view of which leaves very little room for imagination. Her hair was tall and intricate, decorated with a gold tiara inlaid with emeralds. Arrogant, bored look, full juicy lips... not just a queen, but a Goddess. Joffrey was sitting next to her. Ten-year-old piz... kid. A cute kid, nothing more. He glances around in silence and is clearly bored. His boredom, however, differs strikingly from his mother's – instead of something detached and proud, something unexpectedly childish and annoying is visible. To Robert's left, John was already sitting with his wife.
What about Lisa? Once upon a time, she could clearly be called cute or even beautiful (Petyr won't lie), but ten years of marriage have made themselves felt. A puffy, pale, and distinctly bitchy face, framed by rather sparse hair of an unknown color, pulled back into a modest hairstyle. Thick neck and a second chin. A blue-blue, eye-matching dress with a loose fit, designed to hide the fullness of the hostess. All this was lavishly decorated with numerous, rather pretty and elegant gold ornaments. Well, this lady has taste.
Oh, yes! Of course, neither the birthday boy nor the king's younger children were at the feast, because they were too young for such a thing. The holiday for children has already outlived its time and turned into a drinking party for adults.
Armed with the most charming smile in my arsenal, I accepted from the hands of the page the gift I had prepared for the mother of the hero of the occasion. A massive flat box, opening which, Lisa's gasp reached my ears. On a velvet cushion was a gold necklace decorated with numerous gems that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow in the dim light of the hall. An elegant and delicate work of Oriental masters. Thanks to Bailesh for his help, in fact, he was looking for and choosing the gift, I just paid for it. After all, who, if not him, should know what his childhood friend might like.
"My lady, it took me a lot of effort to find a gift worthy of you, at least a little bit capable of accentuating your beauty..." Lisa accepted my words with a polite smile, but also with a certain skepticism in her eyes, but my subsequent words made her thaw. "... and a mother's love." I must admit, I admire your steadfastness and dedication to your family. Looking at you, little Robert, your maternal care and fortitude, one can be calm for the future of the house of Arryn.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed John's face twitch. Expected. It's unpleasant when people talk about you almost like you're dead in your presence. At the same time, Lisa, touched, got up from the table and, walking around it, approached me at arm's length. The emotions on Lady Arryn's face were quite sincere... not with her emotional swing to sign up as an actress.
- Dear friend, thank you for such kind words. I am sure that the Gods will reward you with success in your search for a worthy spouse.
Lisa was followed by a page in the House of Arryn's coat of arms, who carefully accepted the gift from my hands. I, in turn, bent down in front of Lisa, gently kissing the plump fingers of her outstretched hand, noticing at the same time the moderate and very pleasant scent of her perfume. After escorting her to her seat and bowing to the presidium once more, I gave way to the next congratulator and went to the laughing crowd under the interested gaze of Cersei.
Such feasts are by no means uncommon in the Red Castle, if there were a reason. No reason? It doesn't matter, you can be sure that soon it will be found, invented, or sucked out of your finger. As for me, frankly speaking, I had no desire to celebrate, and from the word "absolutely". The last month has been very stressful, or else it will be. Grabbing a glass of red wine for myself, I leaned my shoulder against the wall in one of the relatively inconspicuous niches–I didn't want to be pulled to dance right now. The local girls are quite brave in this. Glancing around the presidium from his temporary shelter, he involuntarily returned to the Arryn couple.
Many, if not most, have a rather biased attitude towards Lisa, which is easily understandable. An ugly, scandalous and sometimes openly hysterical woman with a clear obsession with two things, for which she is certainly capable of committing any evil and crime: hyperprotectiveness towards her son and insane love for Peter. But Lisa only makes me sad, sad and sorry for the poor woman. In her youth, she was really pretty, even beautiful, although she was much inferior to her older sister in feminine charms. It was at that time that childhood affection turned into love for Bailish, which logically led to pregnancy, most likely intentional. Lisa probably hoped that her father would be afraid of shame and marry her to Petyr, but she was mistaken. Baelish was kicked out of Riverrun, and Lisa was forced to use moon tea to terminate her pregnancy, which had a very negative effect on her health. Hoster Tully became more active in the issue of marriage for his youngest daughter, and quite successfully. The choice fell on House Lannister. If it wasn't for Aerys, Tywin Lannister's heir, Jaime, would have been married to Lisa, but somehow it didn't work out. Tyrion was rejected by the Hoster himself.
Omitting historical twists and turns, let's say that nineteen-year-old Lisa was attached, and there is no other way to call it, to sixty-year-old John Arryn. The next decade turned into a series of attempts for her to give her husband's house an heir. Two stillbirths and at least three miscarriages before Lisa was able to give birth to Robert. A weak, frail, but lively boy! It's a joyful event, an important event, but... is it worth saying how continuous and painful childbirth affects a girl's health? And how did the dead children hurt her psyche? And all this against the background of the brilliant Cersei, who gave birth to the king, three healthy children. And the constant comparison in the eyes of others with the older sister who gave the Northerner his fifth healthy child?
No wonder Lisa genuinely hated... everyone. The father who forced her to have an abortion, which most likely caused subsequent difficult pregnancies. A sister who got all the best things: beauty, young suitors, and her husband's love. A husband for whom she was a thing, a defective means of obtaining an heir. But despite all of the above, she fulfilled her duty to the end, according to the spirit of her family's motto... such a woman cannot but arouse respect in my eyes. But for most, she still remains a flighty, vain, stupid, and fat, spiteful woman, whom it's so fun to laugh at and make up jokes about how sour milk smells from her.
It's disgusting, disgusting and very sad. Poor girl. And even though she's only about thirty now... ahem. Let's just say it's clear that John wasn't trying to make her life easier. Love, of course, never smelled here. Well, what kind of love can an old man have for a twenty-year-old girl? Unless there was something remotely resembling it, and even then in rare periods of "standing". And after Robert's birth, it also disappeared... according to Petyr. Frankly, John didn't really hide his consumerist approach to his wife. The main thing is to give birth to an heir, and everything else is no longer important. And if you think about it that way, I don't rule out that Arren is well aware of some kind of emotional closeness between his wife and the master of the coin, and he simply doesn't care.
It's hard for me to understand John. Children should be born in their twenties or thirties, but not in their sixties. I perfectly understand the desire for a direct male heir, but if not fate? How many wives did he have? Two, three, four? The results are equally sad. No luck with the nephews either. The Arryns are dying like flies, but there are still plenty of them in the Valley... and we're not touching on a side branch yet. Choose a smarter and tougher kid among your great-uncle's grandchildren, the same... what's his name?… Harrold Harding, it seems, and adopt. John, of course, is not aware of the example of Julius Caesar and Octavian, but the solution to the problem lies on the surface. And there is also a purely Westeros approach – bastards. Making them is not difficult, pleasant and possible in any quantity.
But John chose the most difficult path. The gods are his judges, but having the experience of fatherhood from a previous life, I can say with confidence that it is difficult to give birth and raise children not only at sixty, but already at forty, because you don't want a damn thing anymore, and you can't even do something. John, meanwhile, is already seventy years old at lunch, and his son turned four. From the point of view of just a man, he could still be understood, but he is not just a man, he is a ruler. If he had an adult heir, regardless of his background, the transition of power would have been more or less painless and predictable. But no, it's not for him to solve everything! John firmly decided to leave behind a sickly young child with a crazy mother as a guardian, opening a gap of unpleasant probabilities, among which the banal sudden death of a boy from an equally banal cold. The nights in the Eagle's Nest are cold, you know. In any case, the risk of a dynastic war will be high until Robert Arryn takes care of his own children. And before that, everyone around him will lick their lips at his throne, and someone will try on it. Interestingly, according to the chronicles, such a situation is extremely common for the Valley. The Arryns are not the most viable part of the Westeros aristocracy, and a dynastic crisis with an abundance of applicants occurs steadily (once a century) in the Valley.
Although, it may well be that I'm biased against John. It is what it is. Our relationship has soured a lot lately, to say the least. The marriage epic has not exhausted itself, but on the contrary, I have poured a lot of gasoline into this campfire.…
"Your Grace," a familiar voice interrupted me from my contemplation, "I see that Lady Lisa liked your gift.
"It's all thanks to you, Lord Baelish. He turned around and smiled at Petyr like an old friend. – It's thanks to you that I didn't lose face.
"Oh, come on," Littlefinger, lightly touching my elbow, led me into a leisurely stroll along the tables, "it was a pleasant trifle, my lord.
Slowly exchanging mutual and sometimes sincere admiration, compliments and gratitude, we had almost walked around the entire Great Hall when a rather intoxicated voice called out to us.
"My lords! Wow, my best friends are together! Tyrion was sitting almost alone at one of the tables, extremely drunk. – Come on, join us!
"Oh, no, my lord..." Petyr tried to brush it off, but the dwarf's already not the most beautiful face was distorted in a fake grimace of resentment.
"How disrespectful, Lord Baelish! And by the way, I am your most loyal customer!
Littlefinger smiled wryly, he doesn't particularly like people talking about his private activities in public.
"It's a completely different matter," the dwarf chuckled contentedly when we sat down opposite, clearly taking someone's place, "come on, come on! Let's have a drink soon!
Standing with his feet on the bench, Tyrion towered over the table to his full height and began pouring wine into goblets. Fortunately, Petyr and I had our own, and we didn't have to drink from strangers. Swiftly downing his glass, the Imp reached for the jug again, hiccupping loudly.
"My lords, I have a toast!" The dwarf eyed me slyly and continued. – Let's drink to men's freedom from marriage, which takes away the best of us, turning men into shadows of the past.
"What an interesting toast, Lord Tyrion. I, like Baelish, took a sip of wine and couldn't help but smile. – Do you really think about the family hearth?
- what? Me?! "No way in hell!" the Imp exclaimed feigningly. Family life is not for me, I have been successfully weaned from it.
The dwarf finished with a certain amount of sadness, focusing his multicolored eyes on me at the end of his emotional speech.
"But you, my lord," Tyrion turned to me, trying on a malicious smile again, "with your persistence in finding a wife, I even have a certain amount of... admiration. Like a gladiator from faraway Meereen, going out to fight a dangerous animal. Certainly, your perseverance and determination in this matter would have pleased my father. He is also a guardian of family happiness and well-being.
Well, knowing Tywin's approaches to family and parenting, it's hard to immediately understand whether Tyrion praised or insulted me. On the other hand, the Devil is right. I did everything, whether I wanted to or not, so that as many people as possible would know about my efforts on the personal front.
The Tyrell situation continued. Despite the fact that Robert sent the flower sellers in a categorically abusive manner with their proposal about the engagement of Jofrey and Margaery, John, of course, did not respond like that. No, he chose the most diplomatic and polite phrases in order to delay the negotiations. After all, an instant refusal in such a case and at such a level is a terrible insult. What the Tyrells must have known by rejecting me. The tactics of the right hand are clear, he needs to chat up the process until it freezes and gradually reduce it to nothing. The usual rules. According to the rumors I hear, the Tyrells continue to harbor some hopes, as if they have no one in the capital who would convey Robert's categorical opinion to the High Garden. Frankly, it looks rather strange. But there is one more important point. Those courtiers who know how to think and listen, and at the same time are close enough to the king and his family, are well aware that His Majesty, despite all his quirks, has specific matrimonial plans for his eldest son and heir. They are not only specific, but also fundamental. Robert doesn't shout about them on every corner, but they are known, and the fact that John climbed into this garden, Robert was not happy. To put it mildly.
I had to act. On the one hand, taking advantage of the current situation, I could continue negotiations with the Tyrells with a distant but realistic prospect of success. It was probably for this reason, or at least one of them, that John chose the tactic of dragging out the negotiations as much as possible, not giving me the opportunity to re-engage in this race. On the other hand, all the material buns, as derivatives of marriage with Margaery, move aside when the issue of authority comes to the fore.
Anyone can say anything about a Great Lord, but this does not affect his power, prestige or authority in any way. Within reason, of course. It is quite difficult to drop the honor of a lord with words (if we consider them as a conditional "beli incident"), but with actions it is quite possible. There is nothing wrong with refusing an engagement, it is a common thing. It is common if the refusal occurs on general grounds, when two or three suitors are considered at the same time. But in our situation, I was the only candidate. According to the established rules, we were supposed to exchange the terms of the engagement, talk face-to-face (with the Tyrell family, of course, and not with Margaery... who's going to ask her at all?). In general, wipe off all the questions and then decide whether to refuse me or not. Quite fairly and without prejudice to anyone's honor. The Tyrells did it differently. I don't even know why, either because of the big mind, which from my position I can't see and appreciate, or because of its absence. In this situation, even if they had answered me as secretly as I made my offer, everything would have been fine. But the Tyrells, without discussing a single issue with me and without choosing even the most formal, "for show" reason for refusal, declared to the whole country that they refused to even discuss anything with me. Immediately afterwards, they sent a marriage proposal to the king. They literally wiped their feet on me. Ostentatiously.
Of course, they don't declare war after that, but a self-respecting lord, especially a grand lord, won't bow to the Tyrells again. In the current situation, the Tyrells have disappeared for me. House Tyrell for House Baratheon from Storm's End, in the political context, does not exist for more or less (rather more) a long time. If I neglect this, it threatens to result in certain image costs, because they will simply stop counting on me, and first of all they will be my own vassals. No lord accepts a situation where his overlord bends over to someone other than the king... and even more so to a fool neighbor.
Moving towards a way out of such a delicate situation has so far been quite successful, albeit with the grace of a crookedly stitched hybrid of an elephant and a rhinoceros. We have to gradually restore the reputation of the "young Robert", who doesn't care about anything, and who is lucky – such an opinion of others sometimes helps a lot. Consider that the same evening when I received the Tyrells' rejection, I began writing letters, many letters, the summary of which boils down to: "I want to get married, is there anyone?" With the help of Pycelle, I sent them all over the country, so that everyone was aware, at least in the capital. I did it directly and openly, hoping for a specific reaction, which immediately followed. While the Tyrells were being frozen by Jon Arryn, a queue was forming for me.
I wrote directly, honestly and openly. Requirements for girls: they must be young and healthy, I don't really care about their appearance. The only important point for me is the dowry, its size and shape. This made it possible to cut off a huge number of noble families, whose only wealth is their own children.
Needless to say, a real orgy began after that? Pycelle, I'm sure, hadn't worked so actively for a long time and was mentally cursing me for all it was worth. The latter, it seemed to me, was clearly visible in his eyes. In response, I was inundated with counter-letters and offers, and this despite the fact that most of the lords of the West and the Reach ignored me, including Daddy Tywin, perhaps not wanting to put another Baratheon on their shoulders. Only Manderly answered me from the North, but there was no shortage of letters from other regions of the kingdom. Everyone responded, even if I did not write to these lords. Most of them were ready to give up their wives or very young children for me.
To say that John and my other enemies turned a blind eye to this whole bride fair would be a mistake – the kingdom literally exploded into a volcano of intrigue and secret negotiations for this short period. John, who was under the illusion that I was unaware of his role in the Tyrell issue, immediately offered his help, presenting a solid list of applicants, among whom there was not a single really significant name, and had already made some advances. Of course, he was mildly sent in response, which is why he still remains somewhat offended. The surrounding people quickly realized what and how much, including the reason for the quarrel between the master of the law and the right hand.
The foundation of the situation was unpleasant, but there was also a plus – the bride selection process was under my full and direct control. And it's a good thing that I didn't have to be afraid to correspond through Pycelle – it wouldn't be difficult to go crazy in the process. On the one hand, I needed as many feudal lords to know about my conditions as possible, and on the other... the volume was so large that even if Pycelle really wanted to, he would not be able to read all the letters.
But back to the brides. For me, the most interesting answers from a commercial point of view came from Manderly and, unexpectedly, the Freys. Both houses offer good sums, and the owners of the White Harbor also have a small merchant fleet of three large cog ships. Of course, it doesn't compare to Margaery's dowry, but... so far, it's the best. I repeat, purely from a financial point of view.
And there are also extremely politically advantageous offers. For example, a letter from Randyll Tarly came as a big surprise to me. Perhaps the only major lord in the Vastness who did not piss off, he took and proposed an engagement to his eldest daughter, Talla. Let me remind you, Randyll Tarly! That illustrious general, that Tyrell pillar in the Dornish Marches. He is also married to Mellisa Florent, the cousin of Celisa, Stannis' wife. Oh, what started after that. Randyll is the kind of person who gets off wherever you sit. Putting pressure on him is more expensive for yourself. At the same time, he is not at all a dumb soldier, as it may seem from afar. Tarly is the kind of person who perfectly understands the current situation and its prospects. In fact, he has gained a foothold in the Open and is stuck in the position of a fighting dog, and the Tyrells are frankly afraid of this man, his authority and abilities. During the war, he is indispensable, but in peacetime they try to keep him away from politics. In particular, because of his kinship with the Florents. And he has a lot of children, especially daughters, who need to be settled somehow, but the Tyrells are putting a spoke in the wheel. Anything to keep the Florents' allies from getting stronger. So Randyll played a simple combination, that the Tyrells, just from the thought of the Baratheon and Tarly relationship, offered something that he was completely satisfied with. Perhaps soon one of Mace's sons will have to get married in a hurry.
A number of letters came from the Valley, particularly from the Royces, but as much as I didn't want to annoy John, I rejected all offers. The Lords of the Valley have nothing to offer me. From the word "absolutely". Even the rich Arryns from the Tea Town, because they are without a patrimony and live on bird rights in a strange city. A misalliance. But I ruined John's nerves on principle by flirting with his vassals.
Negotiations, trades and intrigues. The Westerosi nobility, accustomed to this, cooled down, the excitement gradually subsided, and my "prime cost" in the political market, unlike the Tyrells, recovered. Everything moved within the expected routine until Dorn breathed wild fire.
It is worth mentioning that there are simply a huge number of marriageable girls in Dorne. Today, Dorne is the most authentic bride market in the Seven Kingdoms, and almost every noble house has at least one young girl. In every one. And I, apparently, out of a great mind and developed strategic thinking, took it and wrote to the Martells and their vassals with my "would you like to become related?" It was explained to me later, when the message was already in Sunspear, that writing to the Martells after the Tyrells, in general, could be a bad idea. And can you imagine? And so it turned out.
The relationship between the Expanse and Dorne (let's leave the Stormy Lands) has always been difficult. They killed each other regularly, systematically and on an industrial scale. There is not just "enmity", but a real historical hatred for each other. And then I, such a handsome man, being rejected by one of the two houses, tied to each other by mutual blood feud and a colorful story of doing good and applying justice, I make the same offer to the second. An offer that they might take as if I were giving them a handout, a favor. In the spirit of an arrogant youth, I regard them as "an alternate airfield that will definitely give." I only use them to annoy the Tyrells, thus making them look ridiculous in front of the whole of Westeros. Do not forget that the Baratheons are "slightly" to blame for Elia's death. They could have taken it that way. They could and did.
I received quite interested answers from the Tolands, Jordanes, and Santagars. Expected and... interesting. It just so happens that these houses are full of heiresses, and it would be possible to reach a very beautiful political alliance. But the Martells? By the gods, they've gone wild, they've gone wild. When reading the manuscript they sent, a famous picture arises before my eyes: "The Zaporozhian Cossacks write a letter to the Turkish Sultan." I can just see the whole family gathered in the Water Gardens by a beautiful fountain and in the shade of date palms, sitting at low wicker tables covered with sorbet and fruits, dictating, dictating and dictating…
"You, Sultan, are a Turkish devil, and a damn brother and comrade..."
... and further along the text. If we discard the beautiful and ornate phrases and ask about the essence, the Martells refused to even discuss the possibility of Arianna marrying me... but they are ready to consider an engagement with any of the Sand Snakes, the illegitimate daughters of Oberyn Martell. Ah! Also, and only the one who likes me.
Reading this, I was, frankly, delighted. And it's not just me. Copies of this literary creation quickly spread, first in the Red Castle, then in the capital, and a month later throughout the country. It's nice to be the reason for the appearance of a literary artifact. After all, in many centuries it will be printed in history textbooks, and some talented artist will produce a beautiful painting. It will be necessary to make a copy and send it to the Citadel for safekeeping, so that descendants will remember and know what their ancestors were like. Needless to say, I immediately began scribbling an answer, which I also probably found a grateful reader. The Martells were probably waiting for an angry, insulted or insulting, cursing response. Maybe a shamefacedly confused disregard (as the original Renly would have replied). But they certainly weren't waiting for a response offer, which, of course, I had accumulated in advance and prepared for distribution.…
Deep in my thoughts, I did not notice how the royal family, with the exception of Robert, had left the Great Hall. Naturally, after that, the fun began to reach a new level. More wine, snacks, music and dancing. Tyrion and Petyr, seeing my thoughtfulness and detachment, tactfully did not touch me, slowly conducting a conversation and joking.
"Excellent pork," Tyrion wiped his fingers on the tablecloth with a satisfied smile, "so juicy and spicy."
"My Lord, you just haven't been to Lord Renly's," Littlefinger said with an eternal half-smile, but louder than usual, causing all the people around our trio to carefully prick up their ears, "there are real culinary masterpieces there. Take my word for it, after tasting the viands from under the Lady Siren's hand, other food seems bland to me.
"Really?" The dwarf's curious eyes instantly scanned my face, checking to see if I'd gotten out of my reverie. – It's not a sin to start a war for such a cook. I hope, Lord Renly, I can count on a short visit to you? Just to make sure of the skill of your chefs.
"You don't have to ask, Lord Tyrion. At any hour of the day or night. My doors are always open to friends.
"Nice." The dwarf smiled contentedly, reaching for the goblet again.
The main fun in the hall began to concentrate closer to the "dance floor", where local folk dances were performed, and to the tables next to the presidium, along which Robert walked like a wedding general, drinking with everyone at the bruderschaft. And how many happy female screams there are... today, for sure, not a single maid will leave without being touched. Our small company turned out to be far away in the gallery, and the atmosphere here could be compared to that in the kitchen in a communal apartment, which has become an island of silence and quiet conversations in the middle of a big drink. Involuntarily, Lord Roderick Harlow, who was sedately leaving the hall, caught my eye, leaving his vassals to have fun with the "greens".
"Regarding the invitations," Baelish caught Baelish's interested gaze, "Lord Harlow is not in such a hurry to visit, although I invited him to a conversation. And more than once.
"Lord Harlow is a very tactful man," Petyr began, choosing his words.
- And very well educated. It's a pleasure to talk to him. Tyrion nodded understandingly, agreeing with Littlefinger's words, and bowed slightly to the master of the coin, apologizing for interrupting.
- That's right. And very perceptive. Lord Rodrick does not want to provoke," Petyr whispered now, "some forces in the capital, fearing for the fate of the mission with which he came here.
- Is the result of this mission obvious only to me? – I couldn't help but ask the obvious question.
"I'm afraid not. Petyr shrugged his shoulders. – Good education and well-read reading cannot outweigh the attitude of the small council towards solving some problems, Your Grace.
"You are quite right, my Lord. On the other hand, more than a month has passed, and it would have reached the tightest.
And am I not right? Time does not stand still, it is also full of events. During this time, I managed to quarrel with half of Westeros, make up and get married. But Baelish just shrugged it off.
***
It was clearly well past midnight, but the fun didn't slow down. Tired of the stuffiness and noise, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the table under my arm and, after saying goodbye to my drinking buddies, went out into the fresh air.
The Great Hall, like the throne Room and the Small Council Chamber, is located in the Western Courtyard. Despite the lateness of the hour, the courtyard is well lit by fireplaces and lanterns, around which guests, tired of the stale air of the palace, as well as pages, who keep order, rub around. I didn't want to attract much attention to myself, whether it was the inconspicuous but attentive servants of the castle or, Gods forbid, some alcohol-soaked body that craved company but didn't have the strength to return to the epicenter of this celebration of life. Keeping in the shadow of the buildings, I headed in the opposite direction from the passage to the East Courtyard. And there, through a small area, the path led straight to the Godswood.
The Godswoods of the Red Castle are one of the largest Godwoods south of the Isthmus. Sheltered by fortress walls and even its own gates, the Godswood occupied a very decent part of this castle. A tenth, at least. Locals rarely visit this area, but this does not mean that it is not reverently cared for, or that this concern has weakened and lost its significance over time. Several dozen old sprawling weirwoods with blood-red foliage crowning their crowns, surrounded by a retinue of simpler trees. Stone-lined paths, as well as several artificial ponds. A quiet and peaceful place. But not today.
- Hello, Marik.
As it turned out, I was not the only one who wanted to walk through this "sacred night park", but also my squire, whom I encountered right at the entrance to the Godswood. And the young man was clearly not alone – with a pleasant girlish voice, the shadow that followed my squire's arm quickly disappeared behind his back.
"M-my lord," Marik quickly pulled himself together, slightly straightening his shoulders, subconsciously trying to shield his companion from my gaze. "Do you need anything?" I am at your immediate disposal.
- I'm just walking after the feast. Have a rest. I waved my hand lightly, as if to ward off someone else's official zeal.
"My Lord."
Marik frowned slightly and bowed low, he was embarrassed, but the twilight successfully hid his blush. I carefully walked around the couple, and without turning around, so as not to embarrass anyone, continued on my way. By making Marik my squire and bringing him to the capital, I was getting the impression that I had brought the fox to the coop... fortunately, the coop is next door. The guy is getting used to it pretty well and even started reporting quite interesting information and rumors. How he handled such information was a mystery to me. And the answers, as they like, have been on the surface all this time.
After wandering around a bit and making my way deep enough into the grove in search of a suitable location, I chose probably one of the most picturesque places – a large weirwood tree next to a small pond. There was almost no wind, the night sky was cloudless and allowed the light of the moon to pour onto the earth unhindered, and bright stars formed bizarre and unfamiliar constellations and clusters. So, carefully reclining in the roots of a tree, taking off his shoes and lowering his feet into the water, he began to selflessly examine such a native and alien starry sky at the same time. Sipping his wine, he began to lose track of time, and at the same time, his vigilance. I was already beginning to gradually fall into the realm of Morpheus, until I was unceremoniously yanked out of it.…
- Wow! Lord Renly, and alone. – A clear and mocking female voice sounded from above, which is hard to confuse with someone else. "Is there really no maid in the castle's vaults for such a great and noble lord?"
A very intriguing picture appeared above me. Asha Greyjoy herself was sprawled out on the branches like a cat. I saw the girl stealthily during the feast and did not even think that she would be attracted to such a place. Although, why not? Fools often have the same thoughts. The girl was dressed in a rather richly trimmed doublet in the colors of the house and, without betraying herself, and at the same time shocking the metropolitan public, she sported tight leather trousers and high boots.
"Lady Asha, what an unexpected meeting," I did not change my position in any way, I was too comfortable, and continued to contemplate the Kraken's Daughter lying in the roots and slightly raising my head, "let me ask why I should not be alone?"
"Well," a dirty smile crept onto Asha's face, "while I'm here, five girls have been laid out under this tree. One even twice, with different suitors.
- I didn't know that the Godswood was so popular with the metropolitan public.
"Really?" "I don't think they believed me." "Listen carefully, my lord.
And it's true. As soon as the words stopped and the attention focused, soft moans could be heard flying over the Godswood. Most likely, I hadn't noticed them before, attributing them to the distant singing of some nocturnal birds and never thinking back to it.
"Hmm... isn't that Lady Iseta?"
"Do you know how Lady Iseta moans?" There were even more mocking sparks in Asha's eyes.
- What are you! – Quite naturally, I was indignant. – My friends just told me.
The girl laughed quite sincerely at the uncomplicated joke, and the next moment she deftly descended from the branches of the weirwood tree.
- You haven't answered the question.
"A question?"
Asha settled down on one of the large roots at arm's length from me. Her posture, her smile, the crossing of her legs–everything about her now showed defiance.
– You don't look like a man who is ready to marry all the Sand Snakes that have already been born and who are yet to be born.
Ah... here it is. Obviously, my response to the Martells "went over" to the local public. No one likes Dornishmen, including other Dornishmen, and the Gods themselves have told them to laugh at them. The answer itself was extremely polite and concise. I expressed my respect and indescribable joy at such a generous offer, but I legitimately doubted that, although beautiful, the illegitimate daughters of Oberyn could be considered equal to the legitimate heiress of Sunspear. But I am ready to meet halfway, show great mercy and marry all the adult snakes at once... of course, on the condition that the dowry for each girl will be calculated separately. They say some snakes already wanted to go to a meeting with their fiance in order to gently shake his neck.
- Perhaps I'll ask a counter question, - I used the Jewish method, - what did you forget alone in such a wonderful place? Don't you like the holiday?
- A huge hall, a thousand people, - Asha turned her head slightly and directed her gaze at the pond, - there is so much gold and silver that it makes ripples in her eyes. You greenies are having a boring time. You just drink and dance or drink and drink. No fighting, no dancing with axes, you behave strangely, you dress like foreign birds. In a word... green. Sissies who flaunt their wealth and origin, despise everyone around them.
On the last word, Asha turned sharply and fixed her gaze on my face, tracking my reaction. What about me? It's nothing. Watching the girl, I lazily pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a small sip before asking a simple question.
"Are you different?"
"Don't you?"
The answer sounded calm and detached, but not enough. After all, emotions in this young lady are very fond of showing through in her eyes and facial expressions.
"All people are the same, Lady Asha, don't you know? I am sure that you have visited many places, cities and countries on your beautiful ship. All people hate, feel greed and envy, enjoy pride and power, kill, rape, enslave, destroy.
After taking another sip, I handed the bottle to Asha. The bottle was silently accepted. The emphasis on "silently" was clearly not planned to interrupt me yet. Well, that's wonderful.
– They also love, protect, show mercy and care. There is only one love for the whole world. Or do your mothers love their children differently? I don't think so. They look longingly at the sea in the hope of seeing sails. They pray to all the gods and deities in the world that their child will return alive from a long hike. I'm sure there hasn't been a single mother on the Iron Islands yet who would be happy at the thought of her son joining the Drowned god in his halls.
Asha, after taking a couple of sips, continued to look at me, slightly lowering her head. Perhaps at this moment she was thinking of her mother and aunt, who had gone mad after the death of their sons.
- Different things, - the girl still found the words, - The Iron Islands are a harsh place. And life is different there…
"Really?" Greyjoy was baffled again. "Don't you have lords who command and divide the spoils?" Peasants, who are plowing for these lords from dawn to dusk? Before the Targaryens, your ancestors, who are so proud of on the Iron Islands, built one of the greatest kingdoms not only through war and raids, but also through diplomacy and marriage, and the rule in this state was by no means the Old Law. The heart of this kingdom was Harenhall. Its banquet halls could accommodate thousands of people. What do you think it's for? For feasting, dancing and fun. Were your ancestors green sissies?
The look that glared at me was sharp and angry, and the girl's lips closed so tightly that they turned into a single strip. It seems that if it hadn't been for our previous conversations, I would now have either a short but succinct explanation of the difference between "them and us", or a lordly message on foot pornographic.
"I didn't mean to offend you, my lady. I just don't have the habit of judging people for not living exactly the way I do. We are all human, we all have red blood and a short lifespan. This also applies to us, even if the blood of the gods flows in my veins and in yours. A cheeky smile crept onto my face. – If you believe the legends, of course.
"The rumor is true, Lord Renly.
"Oh?"
- You're such a talker, - Asha's face softened, the dislike disappeared from her eyes, and a smile returned to her face, - it's good that my father didn't hear your words, otherwise someone would have died suddenly.
- I admit that your father would understand me perfectly.
There was silence for a few seconds, after which loud girlish laughter rang out over the clearing. Asha laughed long and selflessly, almost to tears.
"My..." sobs and another fit of laughter, "... would my father understand?" Seriously?
"He's a High Lord, just like me. We are well aware of the responsibility for the people and the lands that the Gods have entrusted to us. It doesn't matter what we believe or want, all our thoughts and deeds are focused on the well-being of our Homes. We don't belong to ourselves, sacrificing everything for the good of the future, my lady.
"Really?"
Asha slowed down her mirth. I'm not sure how she took my words right now, but she's serious. She clearly decided to continue verbally testing me, going on the offensive again.
- Is that why you're going to have a bride fair? Do you want to choose a prettier and richer one? Is this how you sacrifice yourself for the well-being of your home?
- Of course! He pretended to choke with indignation under Asha's uncomprehending and surprised gaze. This is politics, my lady, and I and the other lords are looking at each other, assessing the mutual benefits and risks. A well–written contract is the key to a successful relationship. I, in turn, am a young and promising groom myself. Rich, strong, the king's younger brother, a member of the small council, a high lord, and even handsome…
"Probably not enough, since the Tyrells chose a skinny teenager over you." – Asha put a pin in my self-promotion with a satisfied smile.
"Anyone can offend a great lord," I drawled a well-known phrase to Asha's chuckle and continued, not wanting to remain in debt, "but nothing. You'll soon understand how I feel.
"What do you mean?" - The interlocutor immediately scowled.
"How so?" You are a girl, Gods know, stately, noble and beautiful. It's high time to get married. Or did you think that you would sail the seas and oceans for the rest of your life?
Apparently not expecting such a turn, Asha was embarrassed at the first words. But in the end, she frowned as expected, clearly expecting some kind of prick or outright attack on pride or condemnation. I continued, carefully monitoring the reaction of the interlocutor.
- Judge for yourself. Sooner or later, your brother will return to the Iron Islands and take his rightful place as heir. – Asha was obviously ready to say something rude, but she kept silent, catching a serious look from me. "No matter how much Father loves and appreciates you, my lady, but a woman has never ruled the Iron Islands. Your father or brother, having become a reaper lord, will be forced to marry you off to one of his vassals in order to strengthen his power over the archipelago.
"My father," Asha's voice was hesitant and almost apologetic at first, but gradually gained strength, "doesn't particularly like Theon. He believes that "raised by wolves" is not worthy of the throne of his forefathers.
"Then don't forget about your uncles. Who will the Veche choose? You or Euron and Victarion, if they make their claims? And they will. Let's be honest with each other. You, like me, know the answer to this question. The first thing they will do is marry you off with the same goals – to strengthen their power and get rid of the pretender to the throne.
"I have the blood of the Grey King in my veins!"
Asha jumped to her feet at my words. If it hadn't been dark around her and the surface under her feet had been smoother, I'm sure she would have started pacing like a lioness in a cage. She had been trying to hold on before, but now the balloon holding her emotions had clearly burst. Was it because of my words or an almost finished bottle of wine (and an unknown amount of what I had drunk earlier), which the girl never returned to me?… I don't know.
- I went sailing on equal terms with men. She fought like a man. She killed. I paid an iron price for my ship. I am free and free, like the wind in the sails, and no one has the right to decide my fate for me! My claim to the throne is no worse than that of my brother or uncle, and…
"If Theon doesn't become the Lord Reaper," I gently interrupted the distraught interlocutor, "then the veche will decide. And here, you know who healthy men will vote for.
- I know.
She said she spat. Asha sat down on a root, finished the bottle of wine and threw it aside, staring sullenly at the starry sky. I should have taken two bottles.
So we talked. How alcohol brings us closer, however. I've always known that, though. As for Asha, her fate is really unenviable. Either it will be as I said, and she will be married anyway, tied to her husband's domain, depriving her of freedom of action. Or escape. He will go to pirate on the Steps or to the east in the illusory hope of revenge, or he will concentrate on the dubious career ladder of the pirate community. And it's going to be hard in the east. For the pirates of Essos, robbery and robbery are not only profitable, but also a well–organized business, where spheres of influence have long been clearly divided between "guilds", and no one likes outsiders. They interfere with business, you know, they don't know the concepts, they do business out of hand. This is now, if Asha is tied up for robbery, at a convenient moment you can hide in any port of the Seven Kingdoms, and no pirate king will get her, but what if this foundation is knocked out from under your feet? To put it mildly, it will be hard for her. And do not forget that by their mentality, the Westerosi are family people, clan people. Don't feed me turnips with honey, but let me organize some kind of community or, as a last resort, a sect. It's in the subcortex. The worst punishment for a Westerosi is exile. And it's not for nothing that the same Golden Company breathes so anxiously towards the western continent and takes care of the remains of its deceased commanders. Westeros, no matter what, is their homeland and home.
But if you look closely, Asha is not a bad girl. Again, she's pretty. The daughter of the High Lord, they'll probably give a lot of dowry for her, the same ships... wait a minute... hmm.
"What kind of 'hmm' is that?" Asha looked at me suspiciously, tensing up a little and immediately continuing in her trademark indignant tone. "What's with the weird look?"
"Whatever you want to say, my lady. He narrowed his eyes slightly, choosing his words as carefully as possible. – Maybe I know how to help you.
- Help with what? The kraken's daughter's suspicion did not diminish.
- With the strengthening of your position. He stroked his shaved chin thoughtfully. – Let's say you have an army of about thirty thousand people and a fleet of several hundred ships, as well as rich gifts of gold and silver. Will the Veche support you?
"Maybe," Asha shrugged, looking sadly in the direction where the empty bottle landed, "but where would I get an army and navy, not to mention jewelry?"
- Let's just say... I think we can come to an agreement. The only question is the amount of dowry that your father will be willing to provide for you. Just imagine, the union of two mighty Houses, your fleet and my army! And what children there will be! They will have the blood of sworn enemy gods in their blood. May the universe itself bow before them!
Apparently, fatigue and intoxication had an effect, because Asha thought for an excruciatingly long time, digesting what I said in sentences.
"What?"
The proud pirate practically screamed, instantly jumping to her feet. Thank the Gods, I was already afraid that... that... something. I couldn't really think – Asha looked so comical and spiritual that I simply couldn't stand it and neighed like a horse.
"Oh, you!
I didn't have time to figure it out or do anything-I just kept laughing when they saddled me and started beating me. Not to say that it hurts, but it hurts. However, another problem has arisen. The feigned struggle began to drag on.
What does wine do to women?