Chapter 25 — " Consequences of War."
Alacric is in thoughts of his own. Numbers of deaths.
The numbers were these.
Seven clans. Four major. Three minor. Of those seven — five settled on Vale land under patrol and service obligations. One destroyed. One that came in at the end without fighting and whose settlement terms were the simplest of all because by the time they came in there was nothing left to negotiate from.
Men died in the Painted Dog campaign. Men across the year campaign. His Uncle has always said about the consequences of war.
He sat with the ledger in the forward camp on the last morning and looked at the numbers and felt nothing in particular about them which was either a reasonable response to things that couldn't be changed or something else entirely and he had stopped examining which.
The passes were quiet,the trade routes open, the clans inside the Vale's structure rather than against it. Lord Royce's letter had arrived two days ago — formal, precise, the language of official commendation applied to results that the language of official commendation was not quite large enough to contain.
He had read it once and put it away.
Harys found him at the ledger.
He sat down across from him without being invited which was how Harys sat everywhere and looked at the numbers from across the table.
Alaric looked at him.
Harys looked back with the expression of a man who had said what he needed to say by not saying it and was comfortable leaving it there.
They sat in silence for a while.
Outside the forward camp ,Somewhere in the middle distance two of the two-fifty were running a patrol rotation that didn't strictly need running anymore but that they ran anyway because the habits of a year didn't stop because the campaign did.
"The Blackfish is coming?"
Alaric looked up.
"Rode out from the Gate this morning,"
Harys said. "He'll be here by midday."
Alaric closed the ledger.
The Blackfish arrived at midday exactly.
He came with two riders and left them at the camp's edge and walked the rest of the way himself. He looked at the forward camp — at the two-fifty going about their reduced business, at the equipment being inventoried and packed, at the particular quality of an operation winding down — with the assessing eyes of a man who had seen many camps in many conditions and was reading this one accurately.
He sat down across from Alaric at the same table where the ledger had been.
No ceremony. No preamble.
He looked at Alaric for a long moment.
"Seven clans, you have done quite a good work , although Mountain Clans still are present but they are too deep to eradicate and but also too deep to cause a trouble." he said.
The Blackfish looked at the mountains visible above the camp's northern edge. The same mountains they had both been looking at for three years from different positions and different distances.
"The passes will hold peace now . It's good for Vale, you have proved your self to be a excellent commander and warrior." he said. It wasn't a question.
"The settlement obligations are written into the land grants," Alaric said. "The patrol commitments are specific and enforceable. Davan's fighters know the terms and understand the consequences of breaking them." He paused. "It will hold as long as the Vale holds its end of the arrangement."
"Jon Arryn will hold his end."
"Then it holds, I will make sure of it."
The Blackfish was quiet for a moment.
"Lord Royce wants to host you," he said. "At the Bronze Gate. A Tourney. Lords from across the Vale." He looked at Alaric. "The kind of occasion where men of significance meet other men of significance and take each other's measure."
"Will you go."
Alaric considered it for the length of time it deserved which was not long.
"Aye, why not good drinks and food. The joust and melees. Why miss it."
The Blackfish nodded.
Another silence. The particular kind of silence that the Blackfish used when he was deciding whether to say the thing he was actually thinking or the thing that was appropriate to say instead.
He said the thing he was actually thinking.
"You should know," he said, "that what has been done in these passes in the last year is not a small thing. Not to the Vale. Not to Lord Jon Arryn." He held Alaric's eyes. "Not to Lord Nestor Royce."
Alaric said nothing.
"I have been commanding military operations in this Vale for years," the Blackfish said. "I have sent good men into these passes and received them back in pieces and written the letters that needed writing and sent more men and received more pieces. Year after year." He paused. "What you have done here will last longer than either of us."
He said it the way he said things that mattered — without performance, without warmth, just the plain statement of a fact he had assessed and found to be true.
Alaric looked at the mountains.
"But it had a price to pay. "
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
"They were good men," Alaric said.
"They were. You really are raised by your Uncle Lord Eddard Stark. He filled you with that philosophy. I heard him say the same thing in the War of Trident."
That was the end of it. Some things didn't require more than that and both of them understood which things those were.
The Blackfish stood.
"What are your intentions," he said. "After Royce's dinner."
Alaric looked at him.
"West," he said. "South. The realm." He paused. "I've been in these mountains for three years. I want to explore other areas now. I would like to explore. I am taking a portion of men who who are in this campaign. Some Clansman some rangers . Some Vetarans. They are already been talked with thier superiors . As you know ."
"And you want it to."
"I want to see it," Alaric said. "What it is. What it's worth. What it might need." He looked at the passes. " Make some money, Mercenary work. Good work for a bastard."
The Blackfish looked at him for a long moment.
"There are tournaments in the Reach," he said. "Lord Royce can write you letters of introduction to lords who matter in the Riverlands and the Westerlands. Jon Arryn can do the same for the capital." He paused. "You have a name here. Taking it elsewhere is a reasonable next step." the Blackfish said. "I'm telling you the doors that are open."
A pause.
" I know my niece doesn't like you. She is right. You are shame on her honour. But it's not your fault but yours fathers. So There will always be work here," the Blackfish said. "If you come back."
Alaric looked at him grateful. Man has taught him good enough" Thank you Ser, I am grateful."
The Blackfish picked up his cloak.
At the edge of the camp he stopped.
Turned. Just slightly.
"Jon Arryn wants to meet you before you leave the Vale," he said. "At the Royces Tourney."
He walked back to his riders.
Alaric watched him go.
He sat alone with the mountains for a long time after.
Seven clans.
Three years.
---
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