279 AD
Cold Clan Farm
"You little rascal! Come here!" The speed with which those steely, feminine fingers closed on my ear made me suspect my mother of a secret military past.
"Ah-ah-ah-ah, Mom! Please, stop! I'm glad to see you too! Ow-ow... I'm too old to be pulled by the ears!!! Ow-ah, Mommy, please, stop! You'll rip my ear off!" It didn't help. Despite all my screams and pleas, the two-finger pincers didn't even think of loosening their grip on my long-suffering ear.
— O-o-o-o... So you're an adult? Old enough to have sent only one letter in eight years⁈ Old enough that, having had the opportunity to visit his family at least three times, he never even left the walls of Lannisport⁈ Old enough to at least start writing proper letters when he became a lord⁈ — Seeing how my father, who had aged slightly over the years, and my older brother, who had grown and matured over the years, having already taken the reins of the family, cautiously huddled in the farthest corner of the house, I realized that I wasn't the only one scared to death by this fury who had mistakenly possessed my mother's body. And the execution continued. — I was worried about you, you brainless idiot. I learned about every voyage you took from the merchants of Lannisport! I even turned to your grandfather for help, so that he would pass on all the news to me! And you!!!
"Mom, put the frying pan down!!!" I was already starting to panic, remembering what a deadly weapon this kitchen utensil had become in her fragile hands. "Father, help!"
"Get out of this yourself!" the two traitors shouted simultaneously, running into the next room, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.
"It all started so well," I thought, somehow twisting my ear out of the grip and avoiding the meeting of my face and the hard cast-iron surface.
The next morning, after Barristan and I had successfully freed the king, realizing that his song was sung, Denis Darklyn opened the city gates and surrendered to the besieging army.
Having slept his allotted eight hours, Aerys, immediately upon awakening and regaining consciousness, ordered the Darklyns brought to him in chains. The sight of several dozen shackled men, women, children, and elderly people in rags being led through a line of soldiers who laughed at them and almost openly pelted them with stones, was not an appealing sight. And when the king ordered the execution of all the Darklyns, not just Denys and his Serala, who had incited her husband to rebellion, my spirits plummeted.
Denis was quartered, his body hacked off piece by piece with a blunt axe. Serala faced the most brutal execution—her tongue and genitals, with which she had "enslaved her lord," were torn out, then burned alive in the Wildfire. Their children, a small seven-year-old boy and a younger girl, despite the pleas of Prince Rhaegar, Barristan, and I, were fed to long-starved dogs, their parents being shown the sight. The other members of their line faced an equally cruel fate—torture by a red dragon.
This structure was a hollow copper statue, fashioned in the shape of a three-headed dragon. Made one-third the size of a full-grown dragon, the statue was hollow inside and had a small door between its wings. Aerys would lock one Darklyn inside, and under its belly, he would light a gigantic bonfire, generously pouring Wildfire into it. The people inside were simply roasted to the point of being stewed meat, suffering incredible pain. But the most horrific thing was that a special tube was installed in the dragon's nose. When the person inside the statue screamed in pain, their cries would pass through this device and emerge as a loud draconic roar, indistinguishable from a real dragon, according to the king. And the louder the red dragon roared, the louder the man inside screamed and the king outside screamed in ecstasy.
I'll just say one thing: I didn't have the strength, either mentally or physically, to endure such a spectacle (especially when one of the merciful ones who asked for mercy for the elderly and children was simply executed). So, with Prince Rhaegar in tow, I went on a three-day bender until all the Darklyns were killed. Of course, if it were up to me, I would have fled long ago, but the psychopathic king's orders were clear: wait until he dealt with the rebels and then await my reward.
The Darklyns' vassals and chief lieutenants, the Hollards, also suffered. Their family was stripped of all ranks and lands, and most were executed. The Darklyns' steward, Jon Hollard, was married to Lord Denys's sister and was imprisoned in a red dragon along with his wife and youngest son. Their squire, Robin Hollard, died under torture on the rack right there in the camp. Only a three-year-old boy, Dontos Hollard, survived. He was the son of Steffan Hollard, the twin brother of the very same Simon Hollard who was cut down by Ser Barristan, who had vouched for the boy. I took him in, promising to look after him and make him a good knight, instead of Selmy's offer to take him to King's Landing and raise him as a court knight.
"Aha, indeed," I thought then, ordering one of the highlanders to take the sobbing boy to the ship. "They'll beat him up at court, physically and mentally, turning him into either a moron or a drunkard."
Yet, fallen lords in this world are despised almost more than bastards.
Barristan, however, had a rather interesting story: after cutting down Simon and six other guards, he mounted his horse and galloped after me, but was attacked by one of the patrols scurrying through the city searching for the king. He cut down his attackers, of course, but was wounded himself, falling into one of the city's many ditches, where my woodsmen found him. They dragged him to the Old Godswood, where they dressed his wounds and the next day carried him back to camp, where the maester tended to him.
After the execution and plunder of the Darklyns and Hollards' lands, a general return to King's Landing followed, to reward the heroes and punish the undesirables.
It turned into one of the most controversial moments in my life.
In fact, from the Duskendale Rebellion, as it has already been dubbed by the people, I received only three things: universal fame in the Seven Kingdoms as the king's savior, personal hatred for Aerys II Targaryen, and the title of knight, received personally from Barristan Selmy.
And while the first was perfectly natural, the third moment arose because of the second. When Barristan and I were invited to the awards ceremony, where the king wanted to personally bestow upon us rewards for saving his life, I didn't have much hope—money isn't a gift in such cases, I don't need any land in the crown lands, and some kind of hereditary title or trading privilege would have been very beneficial.
But when that bastard said, "He allows me to keep all the illegally appropriated Valyrian steel," I think not only I but everyone present in the Red Keep's throne room at the time was stunned. To my puzzled look, he merely condescendingly explained that all the Valyrian steel in the world belonged to the dragons of Valyria, and he was the last of the dragons. Therefore, all Valyrian steel belonged to him. It took me a great deal of effort not to question him about the Valyrian swords of other noble houses or even tell him to go to hell, but I somehow managed to restrain myself.
I left the throne room blazing with rage, with a burning desire to slaughter someone. Only on my way out of the castle, in the Hanging Tower, did Ser Barristan catch up with me and, apologizing for his monarch (at that moment, my urge to smash Aerys's face in with my fist only intensified), offered an alternative.
For my heroism and bravery in saving the king, he wanted to knight me tomorrow on the steps of the Sept of Baelor in the presence of the entire Royal Guard.
Don't refuse such offers.
So I had to endure the all-night prayer vigil in the sept, from sunset to dawn. The patron saint of knights is one of the seven aspects of God—the Warrior—and I was forced to pretend to pray to him all night long, kneeling, my sword and armor laid before his image, wearing only a white undershirt made of undyed wool. It was terribly cold, but according to legend, this symbolized my purity and humility as an initiate.
The next morning was the next stage of initiation: confession to a septon—in my case, the High Septon, who turned out to be a very pleasant, wizened old man who gave me a short lecture on the value of human life and its role in the world, and anointing with seven oils, according to the Rite of the Seven. The most interesting thing is that my case was quite prestigious, and among the other knights there is even a separate, privileged stratum, called anointed knights, who are personally blessed by the High Septon.
The most interesting and memorable thing followed.
Flashback.
The doors of the Sept of Baelor were flung open by the acolytes, and the bright light pouring through the doorway nearly blinded me. I stepped outside, where a huge crowd had gathered below. Hundreds of commoners, who had witnessed the royal guards leave the White Sword Tower that morning and head for the doors of the Sept of Baelor, crowded at the base of the stairs, looking up with undisguised interest.
Unfortunately for them, most of their view was blocked by the numerous lords and knights who occupied almost the entire staircase leading to the temple entrance. And while in the eyes of most of the knights I saw approval, admiration, and even a hint of envy at the "honor" bestowed upon them, the faces of the lords were different. Stone statues, their eyes gleaming with disgust and malice.
"Well, yes," I thought then. "Some upstart merchant is being made an anointed knight, even though they don't think I'm worthy of that. That's why I like the Dornish better—at least they have less arrogance."
And finally, those who were the main stars of the performance today, along with me.
Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander and one of the oldest and most powerful knights of the Seven Kingdoms.
Ser Harlan Grandison. Ser Whitebeard. He who has served four generations of the Targaryen royal dynasty, but still can outshine most young knights.
Prince Lieven Martell. The White Spear. The mightiest spearman alive. He hasn't changed a bit over the years. Even his jet-black hair and thick, closely cropped beard have lost none of their luster.
Ser Arthur Dayne. Heir to the title of Sword of the Morning. And the mightiest swordsman of this generation. When I saw him, I briefly wondered what would happen if he faced Aerys in battle. How would my beloved older brother fare?
And finally, Ser Barristan Selmy. Barristan the Bold, Ser Grandfather, Savior of the King. Clad in snow-white enamel armor, his white cloak slowly fluttering in the sea breeze, he made an indelible impression as he stood between the Kingsguard flanking me.
"The only ones missing are Oswell Whent and the recently initiated Jonothor Darry. But that's understandable—someone has to guard the king," I thought as I approached the knights waiting for me.
"Kneel!" Barristan said solemnly, more for show than anything else, slowly drawing his sword from its white scabbard.
I kneel silently. At that moment, the entire square in front of the sept froze, as if afraid to disturb the solemnity of the moment. And I understood them. The flat of the sword struck my right shoulder.
"It hurts," the thought flashed through my mind before disappearing without a trace.
"Felix of House Temper, in the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." The sword fell on his left shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." "Back to the right." "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the young and innocent." "Left." "In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women." "Right." "In the name of the Crone, I charge you to honor and respect all elders." "Left." "In the name of the Blacksmith, I charge you not to stain your sword with innocent blood." "And a final blow to the right shoulder..."
There was a dramatic pause. Now the most important phrase of the entire ceremony was about to be spoken, after which I would officially become one of the most revered warriors of the Seven Kingdoms.
- Rise up, Sir Felix Temper.
Standing and buckling the sword the attendant had brought me—the very same one forged almost ten years ago in Bern's forge—I looked at the assembled crowd and, at Barristan's subtle signal, drew my sword and pointed it skyward. As did all the knights and kingsguard present.
And the world exploded with applause.
The end flashback .
I remember that day as one of the most vivid and beautiful of my entire life. Even the nauseating smell of the capital and the still-smoldering rage at the Mad King didn't hinder me.
I left the city only two days later, after the grand celebration of my knighthood (at my own expense, naturally) had concluded. Along with 30 accompanying foresters and Robin, I headed west along the Golden Road. My brig, along with Sigrid, Dontos, and part of the crew, was already sailing along the waves toward Dorne, where Joen, having discovered his administrative talents within a few months, was quite successfully overseeing the construction and development of my fiefdom.
The construction of the aqueducts was almost half complete, thanks to the fortunate discovery of springs and lakes in the nearby mountains. The docks, built much earlier due to the superior quality of waterproof cement, had long since been accommodating the constant incoming ships, carrying supplies of food, coal, obsidian, and new craftsmen. The foundations of a second fortress had even been laid, planned for a small rocky island east of the harbor. In another three or four months, the first manufactories, mines, foundries, and ceramic workshops would be fully operational, and the keep of my castle would be completed. Then, finally, it would be possible to send a ship for Eilis.
It's better not to postpone the wedding for too long.
That's why I decided to make a detour and visit my family. I hadn't seen them in a long time. I needed to make sure they were all well, find out how Aerys was doing, whether my sisters had been married off, tell them about my wedding, and simply relax. Saving the king, whose list of less-than-pleasant nicknames had now been joined by "The Ungrateful," had drained too much of my energy.
And so, as soon as I entered the house, which over the years had acquired several large extensions, a normal wooden floor and beautiful furniture, my poor ear fell into a steel grip.
By the end of my internal monologue, my mother and I had managed to play "chase me, frying pan" almost all over the house, and she, exhausted from such a run, was shaking slightly in my arms, pouring out all her pent-up emotions.
"My dear son... Sob... I'm so glad you're back... Sob..." Clutching me like a life preserver, she showed her true face of a loving mother whose wayward son had returned after years of separation. "I was so worried about you... Sob... There were such terrible rumors about you... Sob... That you're sailing to the lands of cannibals and Dothraki... Sob... Risking your... your life... Sob-a ...
In the end, she couldn't take it anymore and burst into tears in my arms, pouring out all the emotions she had accumulated and hidden inside herself.
"Yes. You women are strange creatures," I thought, handing my mother over to my father, who had approached and promised me with his eyes a "serious conversation." "You hoard emotions inside you that eat away at you from the inside, and you never show it to anyone. Is that a gift or a curse?"
My philosophical musings on the difference in emotional stability between men and women were interrupted by my brother, who quietly approached and mouthed a phrase that made me want to run away to the other end of the world:
— The sisters will be here soon.
"F***..."
*
We were only able to have a normal family conversation in the evening, when the sisters returned, almost mirroring the scene with screams, tearing my ear off, and a downright beating (thank the gods they were punching me, and my men were resting at an inn a few miles away—if they had seen it, I would never have been able to wash away the shame). All the gifts I had brought, sent to King's Landing in advance, were examined and appreciated. Mother even stopped sulking after carefully examining the spice set I had brought, and the twins nearly choked me with joy over the rare carved ivory pins made in Yi-Ti.
Now, sitting at the big table, sipping that homemade blackberry juice from my old horn mug and looking around at my family seated so close, I realized how much everyone had changed over the years.
Father and mother. They had hardly changed. Cersei was still a beautiful woman, with bright green eyes, sunny hair, and a perfect figure. And this despite the fact that she would soon be 44. Only the small wrinkles on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes revealed her true age.
"This is what clean air and normal life do," I thought, biting into a piece of baked apple pie.
Time had affected my father far more severely. His hair, black as a northern raven's wing, had lost its color, becoming a steel-white hue. Coupled with his long, waist-length beard and mustache, in keeping with the latest Western fashion, it created a very strange impression. If Alexander's eyes had been purple instead of blue, he could easily have been mistaken for a Volantenes or Lysian aristocrat who had somehow miraculously found himself in Westeros. This impression was marred only by the firm, masculine features of his face, characteristic of all northerners but absent from the inhabitants of the Free Cities.
Aerys. My older brother had changed greatly over the years. He'd grown taller, acquiring a lean, sinewy build, more geared toward speed and reflexes than my father and I. We relied more on the strength and endurance required to wield an axe, while he had the body of a true swordsman. His simple, unadorned features were very similar to mine, making us incredibly similar. Almost twins. Except for the hair—my short black locks, which hadn't grown out since my duel with Khal Bharbo, contrasted sharply with his long, curly braid slung over his shoulder.
"But he couldn't stand long hair," I recalled, twirling one of the many strands around my finger out of old habit. "It must have been his sisters, or fashion, or the herd instinct that made him do it. Or maybe all three."
The sisters... Elia and Thea have changed the most. From awkward little girls, they've transformed into young beauties, capable of captivating hearts with just their appearance.
I believe there are many types of beauty. There is exotic beauty, tinged with mystery and intrigue. A prime example are the famous oriental beauties, whose mere appearance can arouse a man's primal instinct of interest and desire. They entice and draw men into their net, like the sirens of ancient Greek myth.
There's an otherworldly beauty that makes you look at a girl and think of her as something otherworldly, unearthly. It seems as if she doesn't belong in this world, and her mere presence is a blessing from the gods. Ailis possessed such beauty. Combined with her quiet and calm nature, it felt like an angel descended to earth. I've only managed to break through this image a few times, including during that conversation in Volantis.
My sisters possessed the third and most common type of beauty. The homespun kind. They didn't have anything special about them, like large breasts paired with a narrow waist, or bright, captivating eyes that could draw you into the abyss with just one glance. No, all their features were very ordinary, maybe a little above average. But they were harmonious. Their eyelashes perfectly matched their eyebrows, their eyebrows perfectly matched their lips, and their lips perfectly matched the oval of their faces. It's like the work of a hard-working but not exceptionally talented sculptor—individually, the statue's features are nothing special, but together they create something new... perfect.
So, watching Thea help Elia braid one of the gifted hairpins into her long black hair, I even felt a little sad. Because of my ambitions, which forced me to leave home so early, I didn't get to see them grow, mature, blossom, fall in love... although I was a bit hasty with that last one. Many of the local "suitors" probably lose all desire the moment they see their father or Aerys training.
They will tear you to pieces.
"Well, brother," the elder brother finally broke the silence, when dinner was finished and it was possible to start a conversation without fear of getting hit in the forehead with a spoon. Father was true to his habits. "Tell us. We've only heard rumors about your adventures, and the information in your letter has cleared things up a bit. We need details."
Seeing my sisters' eyes glowing with interest and their father and mother waiting, I simply couldn't refuse.
The story itself didn't take very long—I left out many moments, some were too boring, and I had to completely cross out the parts about Oberyn and Aelys and make up a new story on the fly. Although the description of the Essos cities, my rise to lordship, the rescue of the king, and my recent knighting by the Kingsguard caused a wave of delight among my entire family. But that didn't save me from the questions at the end and the disapproving looks from my mother and sisters for having a bastard. It's just how I was brought up, though.
"You've had some good adventures, my son," my father said thoughtfully, looking at me through the glass of the goblet I'd sent you three years ago. "But answer me this: why didn't you become a lord in the West? The Great Lion is wise and generous. For a weapon of Valyrian steel, knowing your fortune and whose son you are, he would easily have granted you the lands of Tarbeck, far more valuable than that lifeless valley."
Seeing this question in everyone's eyes except my mother, who was more interested in the readiness of another pie in the oven than in politics, I could only sigh.
"I couldn't, I simply couldn't," I replied, and seeing the family's puzzled expressions, I continued. "To become a vassal lord or bannerman in the West, the Reach, the North, the Vale, the Stormlands, and the Riverlands, you need the king's approval. Aerys simply won't sign that paper on principle, preventing Tywin from acquiring another vassal. Why do you think the lands of Castamere and Terbehall haven't found a new master yet? The king, in his envy and hatred of the Warden of the West, tears to shreds any such paper."
After taking a bite of the freshly baked pie and washing it down with milk, I continued.
"And the Small Council wouldn't just sit back and watch the House of the Hand grow stronger. They'd paint me before the king as a major criminal, worthy of execution and confiscation of property. And they'd succeed. So Dorne was my only option. All because of their privileges."
"Privileges?" Aerys asked with interest, glancing at his thoughtful father with one eye.
"Dorne was never conquered," I said, slightly shocking the entire household, who had never been interested in, and could not possibly know, the history of the Seven Kingdoms under the Targaryen dynasty. "With the Targaryens' rise to power, Dorne, unlike the other kingdoms, did not lose its independence. Attempts to subjugate these lands were made, but to no avail. Although Aegon the Conqueror conquered the rest of Westeros with his dragons and army, Dorne was not easily conquered. Dorne was protected from land armies by mountains, and from dragons by guerrilla warfare. It was there that the youngest and beloved wife of the first king, Rhaenys Targaryen, was killed, along with her dragon, Meraxes." The Dornish warriors themselves didn't gather in large armies, like the King of the Hills and the King of the Reach at the Field of Fire, where they were simply burned, and they didn't hole up in fortified castles, like Harren the Black at Harrenhal, so the dragons proved of little use. Daeron I the Young Dragon's conquest and subsequent holding of Dorne cost tens of thousands of dead soldiers and three years of relentless war. But soon the land regained its independence. Ultimately, everything was decided by a union of dynasties: Daeron II Targaryen married Myriah Martell, while his sister Daenerys was wed to Maron Martell.
After wetting my throat and pouring myself another mug of milk, I continued my story.
"But marriage isn't a sufficient reason for joining. Several preferences have been made, making Dorne much freer from the influence of the Iron Throne. The first..." I raised a finger at this point. "...is the title of prince. The Prince of Dorne has the right, like a Hand, to rule over his lands in the king's name. And that's enormous power, ranging from the ability to judge his subjects independently, without regard for the king's opinion, to the ability to grant the title of lord to a commoner. The second..." The second finger. "...is a different method of taxation. All kingdoms pay the standard taxes, instituted by Aegon I Targaryen, in the form of half the sums collected by the Grandlords, consisting of the taille, merchant dues, craft dues, knightly dues, and the Faith tax. But Dorne has been paying a fixed sum every year for a hundred years, unchanged since the reign of Daeron the Good. Thirty thousand golden dragons."
Seeing the stunned faces of my father and brother, who understood perfectly well that for the entire kingdom such a sum was just a trifle, I couldn't help but grin.
"Money depreciates over time. In the time of the Red Dragon, it was quite a large sum." The shocked expressions on everyone's faces turned to one of incomprehension, and I realized I'd been lucky these last few years—my association with mostly educated people (Oberyn, Doran, merchants, lords, and my friends who had been through the Citadel with me) was leaving its mark. "Remember that gold, silver, and copper, though considered rare and precious metals, are constantly being mined. And when something becomes more plentiful, it becomes cheaper."
Seeing my family's expressions soften with understanding, I didn't bother to elaborate that this matter involved far more details and pitfalls. In the Citadel alone, nearly three gigantic cabinets were occupied by the countless labors of maesters, all of whom possessed the golden link of accountants and who still hadn't mastered all the nuances of the Seven Kingdoms' monetary circulation and inflation.
"The third and final privilege," I continued, raising my third finger. "It was voluntary military intervention. Until the Dornish prince VOLUNTARILY volunteers to participate in the war, even the King and the Hand combined won't be able to do anything. I don't like war, and my main line of work is trade, so it was more profitable for me to settle in Dorne than in the West, which the King would certainly not allow."
I didn't bother to point out that I was simply afraid to be so close to Tywin Lannister, and also remembered how crazy his children were, according to the stories. There was no point in quarrelling with a father who sincerely respected the Great Lion and considered him a model lord.
"I understand your reasons, but I don't approve of you settling in this shu..." Any further conversation on the topic of "Why I shouldn't have settled in Dorne" was quickly cut short by my mother, who shut my father up with a piece of pie and asked the question that had prompted me to come home.
— When is the wedding?
"In three and a half months," I answered instantly, knowing that if I shied away, they'd beat the crap out of me. "That's one of the reasons I came. To invite you to my wedding."
The ensuing squeals of joy from the sisters and mother nearly deafened the entire male family. Although they're understandable—for any woman, a wedding is a wonderful excuse to dress up and witness one of the most important events in a loved one's life. And if you add the fact that it would be the wedding of a lord, the kind of wedding that's the stuff of legends among the common folk...
The female members of the family terrorized me for a long time... Where, how, who, how much, what... They were interested in every detail regarding the ceremony itself, the guests, the gifts, the outfits, the food, and other trivialities. At some point, I simply gave in and said that Eilis was in charge of organizing everything, silently apologizing in advance. For her, a somewhat apathetic and very calm person, it would be very difficult to find herself caught in the crossfire.
In the end, we were only able to continue the conversation an hour later, when my father separated the excited women into their rooms and retired to bed himself (old age is no joy), leaving me, Eiris, and the fifth candle in the dining room.
"Well, brother, tell me," I began, realizing that I'd told everything about myself and now it was time to become a listener, not a storyteller. "Now I'd like to know how you are doing."
Eiris almost immediately straightened up and became serious, involuntarily transmitting this state to me.
"Things are going well, especially after your gift a few years ago. Thanks to it, I was able to gradually buy land, in small pieces, from the Marbrands, Leffords, Braxes, Sarsfields, and other smaller houses. So now our family owns fifty thousand acres, which are used either as pasture or as fields. The horses sell well in Lannisport, and the grain is bought at a slight discount by merchants from Riverrun," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the wooden ceiling.
"You don't look pleased, for someone who owns the lands of a decent lord and is also a knight," I remarked, pouring wine from my own wineskin into the mugs.
"That's the whole problem, Felix," Aerys said sadly, sipping his drink. "Oh, Dornish! I respect that."
After taking another good sip and gesturing for more, the brother pulled out a small appetizer consisting of a popular Western goat cheese, drizzled with butter, aromatic herbs, and blackberries.
"So, that's the problem," he continued, draining another half of his mug. "I'm a knight-liegeman, with a good amount of land and wealth enough to be respected. But House Cold has no history. We're new to the West, and most of the locals look at us like crap. And if it's all clear to me—if I put in the effort, I could marry the daughter of a poor but noble house. But Thea and Elia..."
At that moment, my brother hunched over, genuinely startling me. I'd always known Aerys as a frivolous slacker, chasing after every skirt and only becoming serious during work and sword training. But now, there was so much pain and regret in his eyes that I immediately felt uneasy.
"I can't give them a decent dowry," my brother finally said, downing the rest of his wine in one gulp. "Almost all the family's money goes toward paying mercenaries to guard the villages, developing the pastures, and building the castle."
- Castle? - I was surprised when I first heard about it.
"Yes. A castle," my brother replied wearily, examining the ceiling of the house where our charcoal drawings from childhood remained. "A year ago, bandits began frequenting these parts, and we had to hire mercenaries and free riders. I wanted to recruit the latter as knights, organizing a small knightly lance, but they refused. If a man doesn't have a castle, knights won't serve him. And the cost of just one maester with an iron chain required almost three hundred dragons."
The amount they said almost made me choke on my wine.
"They're literally robbing him!" I thought, fully aware that despite all of Aerys's talents in managing the land, he lacks a broad perspective and understanding of the world around him. He needs to rescue his own kindred spirit.
"I'll help you. I'll solve all the problems with the sisters' dowries and the castle construction." My words made my eldest brother jump up and begin the expected speech about how he could handle it himself, but a raised hand silenced him. "Don't say you can handle it yourself." "I'm not doing this for free. My land isn't very fertile, like the rest of Dorne. I'll soon have problems with food. You'll provide it to me, and in return, I'll provide you with a proper castle design and the money for its construction." Seeing how he was starting to get worked up (his pride, damn it, wouldn't allow it), I just sighed wearily. Although in this regard, my brother and I are lucky—he'll never ride on my neck. "Don't even think of refusing. I'll demand every silver coin from you for the construction. You'll remember me with ill will for a long time."
I didn't need to clarify that I would lower all prices to a minimum and that he would pay off his "debt" in a few years - judging by the grateful and understanding look on Airis's face, he understood this himself.
— What about the dowry?
"Don't worry about that. You agree that our sisters deserve better, right?" I asked with a hint of slyness, looking at my brother. Seeing his affirmative nod, I continued. "I know the majority opinion is that the sooner you marry off the girl, the better. Better chance of producing a good heir. But I suggest you wait five years."
"Why five years?" Eiris asked, pouring the last drops of wine from my wineskin into his mug.
"In five years, my lands will be fully developed and will begin to yield profit. Then I can offer as a dowry for our sisters..." The amount mentioned made Aerys choke, splashing wine all over his shirt and part of the table. I had to stand up and slap him on the back, lest, God forbid, he die.
"For a dowry like that, suitors would line up to the Wall!" hissed the older brother, whose windpipe had been scorched by the juice.
"Exactly!" I said happily, pouring glasses of the golden Arbor wine I'd hidden in a secret flask. "And from among them, we'll be able to choose the most normal and sane ones, who will respect and treat our little angels well. And if something goes wrong..."
The inter-worldly gesture of running a thumb across the throat clearly showed what would happen to those who encroach on our sisters.
- Ha-ha-ha-hahaha-haha!.. - Judging by the growing laughter of Eiris, he understood my idea, and now he is laughing sincerely and infectiously at the prospects that have opened up.
- Uh-ha-hahaha-ha-ha! - And naturally, I soon joined him.
On that day, the head and heir of the Temper and Cold clan laid the foundation for an eternal union that would last for many hundreds of years, unaware that four pairs of eyes were looking at them from the next room as if they were crazy.