"Criminally little is known of this woman's life, far less than of Emperor Robb I's other paramours. However, one thing can be said for certain—she gave life to one of the most brilliant rulers of the Fourth Century." — From the book by Leonella Manarik Women in Power: From Valyria to the Present Day. Volume V.
. . . . .
"We must ransom Blackwood at any cost," were the words with which Cesare greeted Uncle Brynden.
The man seemed somewhat perturbed by the other's awareness. However, Cesare did not intend to accuse him of lying or cast heavy glances. Several hours had passed since the conversation in the library. During that time, he had managed to gather his thoughts in the quiet of his chambers, suppress his own disappointment, and look at what had happened impartially.
Who should he be angry with? The Lannisters, who decided to remind everyone of their existence? It would have been strange had they met him at King's Landing with the royal regalia and the keys to the city. And, truth be told, Cesare did not like victories that came too easily.
With his vassals, who heeded the persuasion of their liege lord's wife and mother (it was extremely easy to imagine this picture)? Lady Catelyn had plenty of time to out-stubborn them, and respect for her and sympathy for her recent loss would not allow any of the lords to simply brush her off.
With his mother herself, who put everyone up to it? She nearly lost a son. Can she be blamed for wanting to spend one evening of peace with him? Those few hours she stole from the war did not tip the scales in the Lannisters' favor. Her antic in any case did not have irreparable consequences. So was it worth making a scandal over? Perhaps a gentle hint for the future that his feelings should not be spared. However, Lady Catelyn is a smart woman and will not abuse her power...
The Blackfish felt uncomfortable. He was of that breed of men who always do their job well, and therefore being unwittingly caught in connivance clearly upset him.
"Forgive me for coming only now and not telling you everything at once, but Cat asked so..."
Cesare cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"No need for apologies, Uncle. I understand everything. Well, why are you standing? Sit in that chair over there, you don't even have to move it."
Despite the softness of Cesare's tone, Uncle Brynden was not encouraged. His fingers began to tap a drumroll on the armrests.
"Which highborn captives do we have left?" Cesare returned to the topic occupying him. "I recall while I was at Renly's camp, you already conducted an exchange. Back then, after the Ruby Ford, they also had quite a few of ours."
The Blackfish crossed his arms over his chest.
"We have Ser Kevan's son, Willem. Served as a squire and was captured after the Battle of the Camps."
"Excellent," Cesare rubbed his hands impatiently. "Send Lannister a letter with our offer. At the same time, find out about the fate of the other prisoners."
Biting his lip, he looked thoughtfully at his uncle. The topic he was about to raise was just as burning, but much more delicate.
"Your scouts performed superbly during the Western campaign, but at the moment they alone are not enough for us. We need spies in King's Landing, Casterly Rock, Highgarden..."
"Are you suggesting I take up spying, Robb?" his voice trembled with restrained indignation. "I did not think you held me in such low regard."
"You misunderstand me, Uncle," Cesare assured him with all fervor, though that was exactly what he meant.
He did not know how deeply knightly upbringing was ingrained in the Blackfish, harboring hope that pragmatism would prevail over notions of honor. But by the way Ser Brynden's eyes flashed, by the way his nostrils flared, he concluded that persuasion was useless.
"You have fought all your life and surely know many reliable men not burdened by vows. You could introduce me to..."
The door opened with a quiet creak. Two candlesticks on the table gave very little light, but they were enough to discern a female silhouette.
"Oh, I am interrupting, it seems," Walda lowered her head. She looked somewhat embarrassed.
She wore a loose house dress embroidered with lace and soft slippers. Her hair, styled in a complex high coiffure all day, fell in tight curls down her back.
"Not at all, my dear, Uncle and I have already finished."
"I will think on it, Robb," Ser Brynden assured him, and Cesare had no reason not to believe him.
When the echo of his steps died away in the corridor, Walda rushed to Cesare and threw her arms around his shoulders. A series of quick kisses rained down on his lips, cheeks, hair. And he stood, discouraged by such a stormy and reverent display of feelings.
They had known each other only a week. Met, and immediately went to the sept. Is that enough to ignite a spark in the heart?
Walda pulled away. In the faint candlelight, her eyes shimmered mysteriously.
"If not for my condition, I would pounce on you right here," behind the passion in her voice hid a barely noticeable share of mockery.
"...But excessive shaking will not reflect well on my digestion," Cesare finished for her mentally and chuckled at his own joke.
"You find this funny?" his wife took his smile personally and seemed quite offended.
"No, what are you..." Cesare tried to calm her, but evidently had no success.
She turned her back and walked away, hugging herself by the shoulders in some defenseless gesture.
"On our first night, you called me a she-wolf," Walda said unexpectedly. Said and fell silent, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Later I realized you acted on intuition—I had time for reflection—but then you found surprisingly correct words."
She fell silent again, immersed in memories.
"All my life I seemed to sway on the waves," a nostalgic note sounded in her words. "Silence, regularity, calm. Small failures, small joys. It is a sin to complain, the people around me lived just the same. A trip to the fair seemed an extraordinary event, let alone visiting a tournament."
Her tone warmed. It became clear that Walda smiled in a fit of self-irony.
"But no sooner had you arrived at our castle than life around me began to spin like a hurricane."
She turned sharply, shaking her magnificent hair.
"You may freely mock my confessions—from your pedestal they hardly seem anything serious."
"What pedestal?"
Cesare closed the distance separating them. They were about the same height, so kissing her was very convenient.
"You just do not see yourself from the outside," she smirked against his lips. "A sort of Daemon Targaryen who donned the guise of a cold Northman."
Her words struck Cesare. She noticed! She noticed his mask! Well, one cannot deny her insight! So much for a simpleton!
"Let us go to bed. The day was long and tiring."
Cesare helped his wife undress and, disrobing himself, settled on his side, snuggling up to her. Her hair smelled of chamomile and something else just as light. Thinking of this, Cesare fell asleep.
He found himself in Grey Wind's skin again and chased through the forests for a long time in search of "his own": stumbled upon paw prints, remnants of prey, and small bones. Searched, searched, searched. Called them, but no one answered...
The feeling of abandonment remained with Cesare upon waking, but quickly passed under Walda's onslaught. His wife, armed with a comb, took to brushing his hair. In all the time spent in the Seven Kingdoms, Cesare had not cut his hair once, and so it already reached his shoulders.
"You know, I had a strange dream," Walda admitted, fingering tangled strands.
Against his back, Cesare felt the touch of her rounded belly.
"Did it frighten you?"
"Rather surprised," she stated, though anxiety was heard in her voice. "I saw a babe, so beautiful, with red hair like yours. First he just lay there, and then rolled over, stood on his legs, and walked confidently."
Her fingers untangled a knot formed during the night, and the comb glided confidently through the hair.
"So what is bad in that?" Cesare half-turned and looked attentively at his wife. "You saw our son."
"That is not all," she said. "A terrible snake crawled out to meet him. It hissed, and I thought it was about to lunge at him, but the baby grabbed it mid-air, squeezed it tightly in his little hands and... bit its head off. I was amazed then at how sharp his teeth were. And then he threw the snake body away and started to dance. The whole world around shook from his jumps, and I woke up."
She left his hair alone, satisfied with her work. Cesare caught her hand and kissed her fingers.
"You should not worry about this. A dream is often just a dream."
The door opened and a maid entered with a dress in her hands. At first, Cesare paid no attention to her, and then with surprise recognized Estrel.
"So, I asked for the blue dress of Dornish silk with beads, and what did you bring?!" Walda's voice turned sharply cold. "Messed everything up again?!"
The servant's dark cheeks flooded with a shamed blush. With all her might she avoided Cesare's gaze, looking only at his wife.
"Fine, leave it," Walda waved her hand carelessly, dismissing the servant. "And now, my lord, will you not help me dress? There will be far more use from you in this matter than from that fool."
Her insolence amused Cesare. And since she helped him with his hair, why shouldn't he help with the dress?
As if in passing, she remarked:
"Not long ago, Mother sent a couple of letters to her nephew in the Vale."
"Nephew?" Cesare asked again. "And what does he write?"
"Many are unhappy with the policy of non-intervention pursued by Lady Arryn," from surprise Cesare tightened the bodice too much, causing his wife to cry out.
"Sorry, sorry, I'll loosen it now," he began to correct his mistake, mentally replaying his wife's words in his head.
Can pressure be put on his aunt through vassals? Unlikely. If she didn't listen to her sister, she won't listen to anyone. Or create a situation where she has no choice. Provoke a Lannister attack on border fortresses? Or something else?
At a touch to his shoulder, he started.
"You had such an expression on your face when you plotted to marry Lord Greyjoy and Roslin to get to the bedroom in peace. I see my news interested you. With your permission, I will invite Lady Mother to visit, so you can question her in more detail," tilting her head, she stroked her belly. "Judging a person, everyone for some reason remembers only his father, and completely forgets about the mother. There is far more of the South in you, my dear, even if your ancestors were called Kings of Winter."
For a few moments Cesare stood motionless, as if struck by lightning, but then pulled Walda to him and kissed her loudly on the cheek.
"My joy, you have no idea how you have helped me!"
Hastily dressing, he rushed through the corridors, flew up the stairs in a couple of bounds, and found himself before the door of Brynden Tully's chambers.
Fortunately for Cesare, his uncle sat at the table looking through some papers.
"The letter to Ser Kevan has already been sent," anticipating a possible question, he said.
"No, Uncle, I am not here for that," Cesare cleared his dry throat. "I need a man who knows the genealogies of the Seven Kingdoms for the last fifty or sixty years."
"Hmm, I know a herald," he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Not a head, but a bottomless barrel. True, he will demand quite a bit for his services."
"If he helps, I will shower him in gold," Cesare threw out carelessly.
In the corridor, he heard the clinking of chains and wanted to turn back, but it was too late—the maester noticed him. Looking disapprovingly at the crookedly sitting doublet, Vyman handed over a letter without unnecessary words. Glancing at the seal, Cesare clicked his tongue in annoyance—King Stannis definitely knew how to choose the most inopportune moment to remind everyone of himself.