Arc 5
Chapter 80: SI POV XX
Late 167 AC
The clang of training swords in the hall was softened by the stone walls, as the weather outside was too severe for my tastes to train in, and yet the cheers of the onlookers were not muffled by that same stone. Jonnel Stark stood opposite me, wearing the same padded armor as I, breathing heavily as he and I circled one another. Maron was silent as usual, watching with rapt interest as the young Northman and I exchanged blow after blow, training shields and swords meeting as often as not.
No longer the short boy I had first begun to teach, but now a stout, strong young man that looked much like I imagine a younger Cregan would, Jonnel pressed an advantage after a swing was open, but my hurried defense countered enough for me to regain my footing. Failing to continue his press, and instead falling back, Jonnel was not prepared for my false lunge to turn into a bash from my shield, unsteadying him enough that another swing knocked the training sword from his hand. A quick step forward, and my sword was pressed against his stomach. In defeat, he gave little away, but I knew what little signs to look for, and he was clearly feeling a great deal of disappointment that he had finally fallen in our lengthy bout. He nearly had me though, and without a bit more time and some different training, would surpass me in skill with a sword.
"Well fought," I said, my breathing heavy as I took a step back. "In proper armor, you might have had a chance to withstand my follow-up blow to your stomach, perhaps even enough to recover your weapon should you knock me back with your shield, but that would only work if your opponent was trying to skewer your plate with a sword and not bludgeon you with a hammer. In either case, better to avoid any blow to you, no matter how well armored you are, as it is possible to find a weak spot in any armor. What was your primary mistake?"
Jonnel was silent for a few moments, retrieving his training sword and turning it over to a pair of approaching attendants. "I pressed my advantage and had you on the backfoot, but did not follow through to keep you off-balance, allowing you to regain your footing and then counterattack more swiftly than I could compensate for."
"Aye, a dangerous gamble, to step back when you have the advantage. Yet remember boys, that even if you think you have the advantage, the well-experienced foe might be able to counter even that. Always be ready to step back or press, but the decision of when to do so is the tricky part. Had Jonnel pressed his advantage, he may indeed have knocked me to the ground and won. Or?"
"He might have overextended and left his sword arm open for a strike from sword or shield, or perhaps been faced with a grapple that used his own momentum against him," Maron said. "As you said, an opponent that is skilled enough can turn even your own advantage against you."
"That is also why you never duel alone on the battlefield," one of the boys replied. Truly, they were no longer boys, but young men, most of them already at or nearing their majority, but to me they were still so young and inexperienced. Hopefully my teachings would remain well after they were gone from my halls, though with the consent of their houses, they would thankfully not depart until springtime. They cited they still had some to learn, despite Connington having come of age the year before, and with the weather of the Stormlands known to catch the unaware in winters, t'was safer they stay until the snows were gone and the warmth was returning to the land. The same reason they had been delayed in becoming my wards was now the same reason they were staying beyond what many might consider normal for fostering.
"Exactly, Meryn," I said, the Ashford preening under the praise. "Better you survive a battle because you were looking out for others, and they for you, rather than trying to take on an enemy force all by your lonesome."
Gyles, the eldest of the four and the branch of Connington whose harbor was coming along nicely, shook his head. "Honor has its place in duels and in tournaments. That there are those who insist on honorable duels upon a battlefield, amongst the chaos of it all, is just stupid."
"All the best stories have such duels," the youngest of the four, Kyle Tarth, replied, his cheeks somehow puffing in indignation despite having lost all his baby fat by this point.
"That's the stories, not the history when put to stone and parchment to make the victors look better," Bryan of House Meadows countered. "Maron was right in that Jonnel did have the advantage, but that an opponent can turn that against you if quick-witted and skilled enough. Look what happened to House Yronwood at the Battle for the Gates of Dorne, what should have been an easy defense of a river crossing was turned into an attempted assault uphill. Yes, the Dornish had the advantage of knowing the area, but they were unable to counter the heavier armor and training of the king's forces, and were likely tired from marching uphill when they should have held their position."
"Never mind Prince Baelor's flanking and crushing of their flank with Lord Baratheon, their lack of an easy escape meant they were surrounded quickly and forced to surrender, lest they be destroyed," Maron added. I was glad the boys had warmed up to him over the years, as his original shunning had made me fear he'd feel left out of their training and games. By now, they at least counted him as a friend, though they were still closer to one another than they were to him.
Can't win them all. At least Maron and Jonnel were close enough that I was certain they would be sad when they finally parted ways.
"So, in short, boys," I said, earning eyerolls from a few, but good-natured at that, "press an advantage when all signs point to it being in your favor, but always be prepared to pivot should you find yourself suddenly turned upon, and the opposite is likewise true. Ancient men have written of these, much as they have of some of the other lessons I have taught you, and though times and houses may change, much of what they have written remains useful even to this day. Even I am not a master of this tactic, and any that proclaims he is, is either a liar or a fool."
"Yet at the same time, we must never underestimate the old man in a profession where men die young," Jonnel said, a knowing look in his sole eye. I was proud of how much he had learned under my tutelage and felt the North would be in far better hands upon his return once his brother was no longer the heir. I had yet to tell my wife, but that day was coming sooner than later. I banished those dark thoughts, instead hoping for him to enjoy the last of his time here, before duty and his House needed him North once more. I would likely never see him again, save for a campaign I prayed neither of us would be needed for, or for a jaunt to Kings Landing well in the future.
"Aye, and with that, it is time for the next story with my daughters," I said, wiping the sweat from my neck. I would need a fresh shower before storytime, as my wife did not appreciate the smell of the training yard when we were reading to the children. When we were alone, and she'd not yet taken her bath? Well… that was a different matter altogether.
"Will it be another scary story?" Maron asked, trying to hide his sudden apprehension. The poor boy had had nightmares for days after hearing about The Thing. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have told him that story, even as sanitized as I'd made it.
"There may be some fright in it, but nothing the younger ones cannot handle," I said, scratching a few off my mental list.
"Will there be mystery? Those are my favorites," Kyle added.
"Oh, there is definitely things to be pondered that will be revealed in time."
"Adventure?" Meryn and Bryan asked together.
"Oh, I should think so."
"… where there are animals that think and act as people?" Jonnel asked. I'd have never taken him for one to enjoy such stories but far be it from me to discourage wonder and imagination in my wards. I'd grown up in a wondrous time for animation in my old life, and at least here the dreaded Mickey of House Mouse couldn't sue me for trademark infringement and plagiarism.
Probably.
"Yes," I said, the story crystallizing in my mind. An old but gold classic, one I had yet to tell anyone in this life, and one sure to be a surprise to them once I had suitably… adapted it for Westerosi standards. "Jonnel, to the showers, and the rest of you, to my solar. We will rejoin you shortly."
The warmth of the fireplace wonderfully battled against the natural chill of the castle stone, the winter winds outside brisk at this time of year. We did not yet know when spring would arrive, but there was little need to worry about provisions running out these past few years. Even when harvests failed from storm, vermin or blight, we'd secured enough that if someone starved in our lands, it was either incredibly coincidental misfortune or their own fault, and the former could be easily remedied through charity. There were hundreds upon hundreds of smallfolk children and teens alive in my lands that would not have existed if my policies and reforms had failed or never been implemented. Undoubtedly other smallfolk looked to my lands with envy and no small touch of resentment, save for those whose lords had adopted many of my creations early on and were likewise prospering in the king's peace. It brought a small joy to my heart, knowing so many children would have a better life than that of their parents or grandparents through my actions.
Speaking of children…
"Yet Olivia was undeterred by the elder mouse's dismissal, for though fear gripped her heart, so too did courage. Instead of departing, she informed him of the identity of her father's kidnapper," I said, my audience hanging on every word. "A horrible small bat, deformed and as grotesque as it was evil, by the name of Fidget." My daughters shivered at the mention of the foul creature, though the little boy in my eldest's lap simply nodded along. "So it was that Ser Basil of Baker Street and his companion Ser Dawson vowed to the young mouse to help find her father, for Basil recognized that loathsome abductor as none other than the assistant of his longtime foe… Maester Ratigan."
"The same one whose crossbow bolt he attempted to match to one from an earlier crime?" Maron Martell asked, whose most recent growth spurt had left him quite gangly but still more than ready to listen to one of my stories.
"The very same," I replied. "Basil has known of this foe of his for some time, for the fiend has committed crime after crime against mouse-kind and yet has escaped punishment from a lack of evidence, or from the propensity of witnesses refusing to testify, or simply… disappearing. However, before we continue, you must all wash up for dinner. Mylenda and I will join you shortly."
My children and wards did not complain that story time was on hiatus, as they immediately began to chatter excitedly about how Basil would save the young Olivia's father, given that none of them knew where he had been taken. Well, my daughters discussed it with Maron and Jonnel, the latter of whom was trying and failing to hide his interest in the story. My other wards were more interested in whom this 'Maester Ratigan' might be, what sort of history he had with Basil, and why an accomplice of his would kidnap a simple toymaker. The youngest of them all, however, toddled from his sister's grasp and wrapped himself around my leg, looking up at me with big, expectant eyes.
"Pwomise Livya's papa be safe?" little Jon asked, and even as I bent over to pick him up, his pleas were a weapon I was unable to defend against. He had been learning much from his older sisters, it would seem, on how to pluck at my heartstrings, and the thought of making him sad hurt worse than the aches of the training yard.
"I promise," I replied, hooking his pinky finger with my own, a ritual I had begun with my sisters and now was passing on to my children. "I would not try to tell you a story you would not like, my son."
"Nor would I wish for it at such a young age," Mylenda said, my wife gingerly taking our boy from my grasp and snuggling him close, much to his enjoyment, judging from his giggles as she kissed his cheek. "Your papa knows the best kinds of stories for little boys and girls, after all. He has been telling them for years now, and yet it is rare that I hear the same story more than once."
Jon was as loved as could be, named for his mother's grandfather, and while it might have been tempting fate for him to share a name with another man in our distant future, I was certain he would suffer no such similar circumstances. My boy had a future to look forward to free of the problems I had inherited from my father's untimely demise, and even less to worry about than what my father had to endure upon becoming a lord. He would have the chance to have a peaceful and normal childhood for young lords and ladies, as would all my children and those in my care. As I watched my wife pass him off to one of the waiting maids to be washed and readied for his dinner, surrounded by his older sisters and boys who may as well have been his older brothers, I was nearly overcome with an emotion I'd not experienced until Argella had been born.
There was a fierce parental protectiveness that warred and mingled equally with pride in my heart. It was hard to put to words what I would be willing to do to keep them safe, to see them smile and to prepare them for the world ahead. Yes, eventually betrothals for my daughters would need to be discussed, as would when my son came of the right age to begin his training to become a knight, but for now, I was content to see them all be children.
No need for them to grow as fast as I had.
Was this how Eddard Stark had felt, trying to protect his children for as long as possible, only to leave them with few of the skills they would need to survive without him in their lives? I was doing all I could to ensure that should anything happen to Mylenda or I, my children would not suffer such horrific fates as the future Starks.
As the maid followed the children from the room, I turned to Mylenda with a knowing look, pushing away the dark thoughts and embracing better ones, tinged with delightful memories. "I know stories that are good for adults too, my dear."
"Certainly," she replied, a knowing look of her own accompanied by a playful roll of her eyes. "Best not to tell any of our children those kinds of stories. What would your mother think, corrupting the youth?"
"Oh, how my wife wounds me with her witty words, using the thought of their grandmother against me," I replied in a higher octave, melodramatically placing my hand over my heart. "To think I had married such a wonderful woman, only for her barbs to strike me when I least expect. There is only one manner in which this sudden betrayal can be rectified."
"Oh?" she asked, crossing her arms in faux outrage. "What do you propose then, husband mine?"
The trap was sprung, and in a moment, I crossed the room and had my wife against the wall nearest the fireplace, the warmth through the stones radiating wonderfully as her arms were pinned against my chest. "Oh, I don't know," I replied with a chuckle. "Perhaps another nine months with Jon's baby brother or sister in your belly might mollify your sharp tongue?" The gentle soaps and oils she wore during the winter months to prevent chafing left her flushed and soft, and the smell from her was one I had grown to crave as much as her gentle touch. It was a safe feeling, to have her in my arms, and she often expressed the same sentiment when we were most alone.
My wife's sudden grin was as sinful as it was playful. "Oh, I think that might do it," she replied, squirming against me in a way that did not imply she was trying to wriggle free. Seven above, there were times I could hardly stand to be apart from her, especially when she not only played along, but actively engaged in our fun. The times in which she initiated were often the wildest nights we shared. "I am ever so tender with your fragile heart when carrying a babe. Yet whatever shall we tell our children and your wards, of how Lord Wytch and his lady wife were late for supper?"
"We would try tonight, after they have been put to bed, of course," I said. "As you said, I am wonderful at telling stories to our children and wards. I would never wish to deprive them of the story's conclusion before they are to go to sleep. The stories I would share between us, however…"
"So thoughtful, surely you are quite the sought-after lord for any lady," she said, before one her hands slipped lower. "However," she added, pulling a small letter from the folds of her dress, "there is something you should know of pertaining to your sister Arenna."
"She has written?" I asked, my smoldering desires dissipating as my wife giggled at how easily I was distracted. She had become too good at such playful misdirection, and I could never stay mad at her for it, no matter how hard I struggled to fake outrage. "Is she well? What of the babe?"
"Yes, both are well, and we now have a nephew in House Selmy. Named for your goodbrother's deceased elder brother, Borros," she said, rubbing my shoulders as I leaned over my desk in relief. "By all accounts there were no complications, and she is quite happy for the midwives and medics that were brought as part of her new household."
"I am… I am relieved," I replied, unsure of how to best express myself, even as I read again what my wife had already told me. My sister's marriage to the Selmy heir after the civil war in Dorne had finally finished had been as grand an affair as we could manage those few years ago, taking a trip all the way out to Selmy's seat of Harvest Hall. Even Baelor had been in attendance, and though the drinking that night would continue to be the stuff of legend for at least a generation, drink that I had gladly supplied from my finest stock, suffice to say the only bed I found myself in was the one I shared with my wife that night. Yet despite the merriment of that day and those that followed, that it had taken nearly three years for my sister and new goodbrother to conceive and bring forth a child had left me worried some nights. Much was expected of Arenna, as it was any woman of noble blood, and whilst I had tried to instill in her some semblance of greater skills than most noble ladies might accrue, I could only hope her husband would appreciate them, rather than come to ignore or envy them.
"We will have to visit them sometime," Mylenda replied, walking over to the largest of the windows, peering out as the sun neared the horizon. Long shadows had already begun to stretch from the taller hills and buildings, and as the wintry winds occasionally scattered loose snow with their gusts from distant snowdrifts, the lights from countless fires and lanterns began to twinkle in the coming gloom.
"Once we have finished our summer retreat along the shores of your lake," I replied, moving to stand beside her. "It would be a wonderful place for our children to better know their cousins once they are the right age, as well as learn to swim."
"Despite all of the planning going into the lands around the reservoir, it would not do for only us to host them, Cas," she replied, leaning on my shoulder. "There are expectations with the seniority of houses when it comes to hosting, even out in the Marches. Certainly Lord Selmy will be glad to see you, what with how great their herds of beef cattle have grown since Arenna's initial betrothal. House Selmy may become a primary exporter of beef to nearby houses that do not follow his example, something that could make their house quite richer now that raiding has all but disappeared."
"Hopefully so on both accounts, Myllie. It wouldn't do for me to simply send Arenna off to her new home without ensuring that House Selmy will reap much of the same benefits as we. Their smallfolk equally sing our praises as well as those of Selmy, and I am certain will continue to do so for the next generation at least."
I could feel my wife's frown. "Yet with passing generations comes uncertainty. Lord Selmy remains hale enough that we should not need to worry about your sister becoming the new Lady of Harvest Hall just yet, but anything can happen. Who is to know if Addam's former goodsister will not attempt to have her family press for the claim of her daughters?"
I kissed the top of her head, the scent of her lavender soap tickling my nose. "Lord Selmy did not disinherit his granddaughters, but has formally proclaimed Addam as his successor. Should the former lady-to-be make an issue of it, and Houses Baratheon and Tyrell do not settle it quickly, I am certain even the king will step in to interfere with what he and others would see as a coalition from one kingdom making trouble in another. Seven above know we've ruffled more than a few feathers with what we've brought to this kingdom."
The relation between our houses and the majority of the Stormlands remained cordial at most times, though there were still grumblings from the poorer or smaller houses farther east on the success of my young house. These same houses had been in my house's position for many more generations now, and that their newfound success could be traced to my young house's efforts had rankled many a prideful yet minor lord and lady. Yet the majority of our fellow Stormlanders viewed me with comradery and acceptance, as I had not risen so far or so fast as to step upon any toes and had freely offered them much of the same means of acquiring prosperity. It was a delicate balancing act, especially with prickly Stormlords being the norm, but whilst I had warred and stewarded alike, my wife had woven a tapestry of connections over the years with which to cement ourselves into the fabric of the kingdom. I had no doubt we would be more accepted than the Tyrells or Freys within a generation or two at this rate.
"It will be interesting to see what has become of the North, among others, once the king's marriage is to be held. I am certain Jonnel is most looking forward to seeing his father." She looked up at me, face mixed with wonder and curiosity. "What was Kings Landing like?"
"If you ignore the smell, which I have heard has waned slightly these years, it truly is worthy as the capital of these now seven kingdoms," I replied with sincerity. Despite the filth, the city was not yet the cesspit it would become under the later Targaryens, Baratheons and Lannisters from neglect and vindictive ignorance. "The Red Keep stands as a testament to House Targaryen's legacy of both greatness and pride, and with all that Baelor has been focusing on the city itself for these past few years, I can scarcely imagine what else he has managed to accomplish that his letters fail to do justice. The Dragon Theatre and the other portions of the old Dragonpit will be a most wonderful sight to see."
"I do hope Allyria will be able to attend the king's wedding, now that her own betrothal has finally come to fruition," my wife said. "Our correspondences grow lax in winter, what with the more dangerous conditions for ravens and messengers alike, and with luck a sudden spring will bring us together at the wedding."
Ah, yes, Lady Jordayne. How she and my wife had bonded in my absence I've yet to deduce, nor will my wife tell me everything they spoke of, but I cannot entirely complain that she became close with a Dornish lady. Returning home after weeks away to complete a tour of my towns in early winter surprised me when my wife appeared in our bedroom, wearing a hairstyle common among Dornish nobility, which was then completed with what counted for eyeliner and rouge among Allyria's people.
My wife wore it well enough that sleep had eluded us that night.
"Whom is she to marry again? A Dornish lord? I recall she has a number of brothers and sisters, both elder and younger, and such House Jordayne does not lack for marriageable kin."
"Actually, she is not to marry any Dornish," my wife replied. "Lord Jordayne has brokered marriages and betrothals with the most intact or influential Dornish houses, among them both portions of House Dayne. Lady Allyria will instead be marrying outside of Dorne, both as a means of bringing Dorne further into the fold as the king wishes, but also to help secure House Jordayne to steady sources of that which it cannot acquire in Dorne."
"So… who shall she marry? She is most certainly of an age to marry, older than we were when wed."
"I am sworn to secrecy on that much, Cas," my wife said, a coy smile gracing her lips. "Best it be a surprise, as most of the realm will find out at the king's wedding festivities."
"Seems a touch improper to announce your engagement at another's wedding."
Mylenda playfully shook her head. "At the festivities, Cas, there are to be days upon days of tourneys, feasts, competitions, and a whole host of other events leading up to the wedding itself, with more to follow no doubt. I already suspect it'll be even grander than what you saw when the king was celebrating his birthday and announcing the pacification of the Vale."
"So then with Lady Jordayne… what can you tell me?" I was not one to keep too many secrets from my wife, save for those including my origins in this world, but I felt whatever secrets she kept from me tended to not be important ones. I had no need to pry, and she extended the same courtesy to me.
We trusted each other with more than most spouses would in Westeros, and were all the stronger for it.
"We discussed much of what we've done in our lands since the end of the war and beginning of winter. With their lands mostly untouched, protecting their shores has remained a primary focus, but as the last of the bandits and waylayers have faded into the sands, more domestic ventures can begin again. Her father has opened up to her idea of establishing the means of making glass in Dorne as an export, as it would not infringe on their ability to grow food as cash crops would. However, they are lacking in the expertise to make anything larger than small containers, as well as the supplies with which to establish themselves."
"Has Lady Jordayne approached you on the matter?"
Mylenda nodded. "She was intrigued by some of what she saw in the Wytchmill some time ago. While she learned no secrets from me, the thought of dedicating a portion of our less usable lands to production did arouse her interest."
"Did this intrigue just so happen to coincide with my idea for glassmaking, an idea which we agreed was unfeasible given our lands and their lack of sand?"
"Yes, and seeing as we are no longer at war with Dorne, and Dorne is becoming a greater part of the kingdoms under the Iron Throne, I thought it pertinent to bring some of the more powerful families into our fold. They will need trade to expand their operations, as transporting the glass by land would be longer and thus costlier than by ships, and which family just so happens to be building a safe port along the coast of the Stormlands for their trade fleet?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "I didn't take you for a climber, my lady wife. Truly, I have been blessed with a wife with the looks, fertility, and mind the likes of which most lords would jealously guard."
"Do you not jealously guard me?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Of course, any man married to a woman even half as wonderful as you would never stand to let you out of their sight for any longer than necessary. Gods know I wouldn't if it weren't for the wars, treasure hunts and stewarding duties calling me away."
Mylenda nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. These days, any disagreement we had tended to be solved fairly quickly, often by sneaking off somewhere private to 'discuss' our means of making peace on the matter. "As it stands, Cas, Lady Jordayne is not only a friend, but a key to bringing greater success to our future trading company. Your mother spent many a long night instructing me on such matters, an opinion I trust given the background of her own family, and whilst I may never be a Braavosi merchant lord's daughter when it comes to trade, I do believe I have great enough of a grasp to know when and whom to befriend for our mutual benefits."
Sometimes my wife's ability to softly politick was as staggering as it was useful. While I could sway men with words and actions, the soft touch of it all, of the wheeling and dealing with lords and ladies in a setting where initial promises were as binding as wind… it was a skill I had yet to even haphazardly master. Yet she had been raised to wield this skill as befitting both a noble lady and her grandfather's heir, to be able to ensure people felt both heard and never taken advantage of, and that in the end all parties would profit from the exchange in some form or another. Lords that could not speak with me in person often had their wives write to my own, who would ensure that only the worthiest of potential friends and allies would find my responses in their solars. That she was leagues ahead of me in such matters never factored into our marriage, as I saw no reason to be upset at relying on someone with greater skill. It would be like a shepherd growing bitter towards his wife's greater ability to herd their sheep, despite the fact she relied on him to shear the critters because she lacked the strength to do so. Our marriage had originally been one of convenience and much-needed stability for both our houses, but even by the time of our first daughter's birth, that had become genuine affection. Now? I would do anything to keep my family safe and happy.
"So we stand to gain a powerful trade partner in Dorne, one whose port, whilst not terribly large, could become a safe harbor for our ships as they traverse the Sea of Dorne towards Sunspear and Planky Town. By ship, we could transport citrus, spices and fine cotton into the Stormlands far faster and safer than anywhere else, save for the Marches, and expand our own markets into Dorne's eastern interior. The spices that do not take well to their heat and times of drought, dyes they lack, the marble and foodstuffs we have in abundance…"
"Should our Connington port come to fruition, we stand to gain a great deal of goodwill with our betters," my wife agreed. "The security of our houses regarding our western and southern neighbors has been secured through Arenna's marriage into House Selmy and your equally important trade in goods and defense against raiders, and while they look favorably upon us, our neighbors to the east remain as variables. Minor lords and ladies envy our successes despite their greater age, and the older houses could lose their favorable view of us just as quickly as we could gain it. Shyra's pending betrothal will secure much of the east, and after that the fosterages of the Reach lads will ensure we have no enemies in any reasonable direction."
"Of all our eastern Stormlord neighbors, I had not expected the Bucklers to be the ones to offer a marriage to Shyra," I replied. "Especially not one so close in age to her. Most other halfhearted offers had been to either babes whose balls had yet to drop, or men looking for their second or third wives. The third son of House Buckler is a prize for a house as young as ours despite the stigma surrounding him."
"Yes, and even if our future kin will never inherit the seat of Bronzegate, what with all those grandsons Lord Buckler's first two sons have had, it would do well for us to tie them to us. With the loss of Lord Buckler's father at the beginning of the Dance, and then the loss of his mother and elder sisters from the Maiden's Day Curse, there are no other contenders for the seat, and thus it is highly unlikely we would be pulled into any sort of succession crisis."
"It indeed would take an incredible amount of misfortune for Lord Buckler's line to be reduced to his third son," I agreed. "With Shyra's gentle nature, fulfilling her wishes of simply marrying and being a mother would do far more for her than becoming the lady of a major house."
Shyra had never fully recovered from that incident with Lord Craggner all those years ago. Whilst no hand had been laid upon her, the terror she had experienced left scars upon her psyche that would never truly fade, and more than a few lords had voiced such concerns when discussing betrothals. I should count myself lucky that they were understanding in why I thought their offered matches would not mesh well with Shyra's reclusivity and 'odd' talents for a lady of the Stormlands. Maybe they were willing to overlook what others might have taken as a slight due to my house's age, or maybe there were Stormlords that had more empathy than I had previously thought. Whatever the case, the match for Shyra would hopefully be a good one.
"Clifford Buckler is by all accounts much like Shyra, so it is no surprise that we have not heard of him until now," Mylenda agreed. "A gentler soul than his brothers, more inclined to manage the breeding of horses and spend many days reading scrolls or writing poetry than attending to the training yard or learning military matters. Were it not for this betrothal, he might have eventually gone off to become an acolyte in the Citadel, as the correspondences indicate the Bucklers were not driven to find him a match, nor were many lords wishing to make such a match for a man they think lesser for his interests and disposition. With luck we will be able to arrange a supervised courting period as soon as spring begins, to ensure they fit well together. If he is inclined to enjoy music, then perhaps my goodsister's talents upon your… what was it called again?"
"Dulcimer?"
"Yes, that. Perhaps her talent with that will be engaging for him, rather than boring as it was for her other prospects."
I wondered sometimes if the unknowable magic that had led to my arrival here and the creation of my family had rubbed off from me and had wound up on my sisters. Arenna had a knack for being the lady of a house that far, far surpassed what most Stormlords would consider expected of someone of her 'breeding', with a sharp eye for numbers and an efficiency with messages that bordered on unnerving for the uninitiated. Shyra, on the other hand, was as much a natural on the dulcimer as anyone could hope to be in Westeros, given I had publicly introduced it only a few years ago. Had I somehow the skills and knowledge to create a good piano, I had no doubt she'd have managed to become one of it's first experts within a decade or two.
"Whatever the case may be, Shyra has told me she does wish to wed, but I have always tried to consider her trauma when looking for her future husband. Clifford Buckler gives us a connection with the more powerful houses of the eastern Stormlands, yes, but he also represents a better future for my sister than what most Stormlords might have offered her. Had worst come to worst, Maron was willing to see if there would be friendly Dornish lords willing to marry her, despite what his mother often said during her stay."
My wife's sudden frown mirrored my own feelings on Lady Iris Martell. She had been as gracious a guest as could be expected during her flight from Dorne during the civil war, but in her time away from home she had… well, changed is not the right word. T'was more that she dropped much of the façade that had seen her enjoy a greater degree of freedom in my home. After her mood soured from her frequent inability to turn Maron against me even a bit, and his loud rejection of writing such insinuations to his sister that she should do the same, Iris had taken to simply being a nuisance. Never something overt enough to warrant restricting her rights as my guest and hostage-turned-ward, but enough that by the end of her stay, she had no friends in Stormhall.
Whilst I had been away on business and to ensure my mayor Luther's son was doing well in his training to become a knight, Lady Allyria herself had come to the defense of my wife after Iris had insinuated that Baelor might be the father of one or even most of my children, citing some comparison to Lord Baratheon's elder sister Cassandra and how often ladies of the Stormlands might look to rise above their stations with a Targaryen. Suffice to say, after I returned home and heard all about it, I'd almost banished her from my lands. It was only the fact that she was scheduled to leave within a moon's turn by that point to dwell in Storm's End that spared an early departure, but there was no love lost by the time she was gone. That Lady Jordayne stayed with us for a few months after that, citing she was no longer bound to travel as a companion to the current Lady of House Martell, showed just how close she and my wife had become.
"As much as that despicable woman may whisper poisonous words, Maron is a good boy," Mylenda said softly. "He and Jonnel have, in parts, been the sons we raised before Jon was born. With luck, that bond will remain when they return to their seats and take on the duties expected of them."
"Jonnel's last letter from Lord Stark indicated that will be sooner than later," I replied. "His elder brother is not recovering from the war, what with the growing migraines and fainting spells taking their toll upon his mind and body. According to what Jonnel is willing to tell me of his letters, his brother likely would not even recognize Jonnel, having lost much of his memory already. He may be dead before spring arrives."
"Then Jonnel must leave us, and become the next heir to Winterfell," my wife said, failing to hide the sudden sniffle. "It seems that only yesterday he came here, scared and obstinate and so quick to anger at perceived slights. Now? He is a brusque yet wonderful young man, and I am glad we were able to steer him in such a direction as well as teach him everything we have." She paused, biting her lower lip. "Do you think the North will truly prosper as you have said it will, should he succeed in implementing much of what you have taught him?"
"The North prospers more now than during the reign of Jaehaerys himself, and with Jonnel's knowledge, it should only prosper even more. Rumors have circulated for years now of the Vale's newfound success in growing some crop discovered in the mountains, but we've yet to see exactly what it is. None of our trade missions through my cousins were successful in purchasing any, but if it can grow there, perhaps Lord Stark might better be able to attain it for their own kingdom."
My wife softly smiled as she pulled me close again, hands pressing my forehead to hers. "A lord concerned about the prosperity of kingdoms half a world away can often miss out on the things closest to home, husband. Let us think no more of Dorne, or the king's marriage, or trade deals or the North's coming succession. Supper should be just about ready, and after the children have heard the rest of this 'Ser Basil of Baker Street' and are sent to bed…"
"A baby brother for Jon?" I asked softly.
"Yes, Cas, another boy, for House Wytch and Windhill alike."