Viserys VI
The godswood of the Red Keep had become something of a refuge for Viserys. It was impossible to enter or even to look at the Crown - the Dragonpit! - without recalling that not only had Robert Baratheon carved out a powerful place for his new dynasty but that there was apparently no place in it for Ser Viserys Targaryen.
The Great Council was for lords. And Viserys, for all his royal background, had no more resources or alliances than the least hedge knight.
"Everything I have," he told the weirwood tree, "Is a gift of the man who has brought down my family."
The tree itself was an addition. Early in Robert's reign, it had been carefully uprooted from the North and shipped south to be replanted here. Save for that the Godswood was much as Viserys recalled in his childhood, unlike the Red Keep above him, which was increasingly a purely military fortress - headquarters of the King's Men and swarming with hundreds of Baratheon swornswords.
"Well," a voice declared. "You're right, my lady! There is a weirwood here. How did that grow since the last time I was here?"
Viserys hoped he'd kept his voice down enough that he hadn't been overheard.
"It didn't grow here," his sister explained. "King Robert brought it here."
"And here's your brother." Lord Mace Tyrell wasn't a small man, although he wasn't as large as Robert. "I'm pleased to meet you, Prince Viserys. Willas and Garlan speak well of you. Their brother is most envious of your exploits."
Viserys nodded, thinking back to the Iron Isles and evenings spent drinking with other squires and young knights. "Loras?"
"Aye, a bright lad. I think he'll do well. Like his brothers." Mace stroked his beard. "I was meaning to talk to you and your sister suggested you might be here."
"It's usually quiet here."
"Your house and mine have a history, your highness." The Reachlord put a fatherly hand on Viserys' shoulder. "There's no blood kinship, not like the Baratheons, the Martells or the Arryns - but we Tyrells owe much of our position to House Targaryen and we don't forget it."
"I'm aware that the Tyrell's army held out against the Usurper longer than any," answered Viserys. "And of course that your army was the only one to defeat him in battle." While led by Randyll Tarly, but this wasn't the time.
"Brother!" protested Daenerys.
"Of course, that was many years ago." Viserys moved deftly out from Mace's hand and took his sister's hand. "Daenerys hadn't even been born then."
"Indeed, and my daughter is only a year or so older."
Really, could the man be any more obvious? "I imagine that every dashing young knight will be making his way to Highgarden in a few years, vying for her favour."
"Those who can stand up to her older brothers, which is a select group, as I think you know."
"Willas and Garlan are very worthy knights. I'm sure Loras will be no less diligent. And getting reports from their grandmother, no doubt."
"I'm pleased that you think so highly of them." Mace beamed. "May I ask, since you are head of the Targaryens, have you given any thought to your sister's eventual marriage?"
A rush of anger flooded through Viserys and he could feel Daenerys stiffen. Hopefully his own face and hers would not betray them. "Some thought, yes, although as certain others might wish to exert their will on the matter I would have to give careful thought to not only whom but as to how it might be arranged."
"Wel this is a grand time to consider renewing old ties," Mace hinted.
"Of course." Viserys gripped his sister's hand a little more firmly. "I shall have to give the matter serious thought, my lord Tyrell. It behooves us both to act when the time is right, which is not quite now. We are still quite young after all."
"Marriages have been made younger."
"Of course, but I would never equate you to Walder Frey and how he took advantage of Tytos Lannister." He pulled lightly on Daenerys' hand and drew her towards the ledge overlooking Blackwater Bay. "Would you like to watch the ships, dear sister?"
"I'd love to, Viserys." She let him pull her away from Mace. "You're not going to agree to that are you?" she asked anxiously once they were sufficently far away that no sense was likely to be overheard of her words.
"I was just being polite. Of course you might change your mind once you meet them. Willas and Garlan are quite dashing. And rich."
This sister thought about that. "I want to marry someone I can love, Viserys. It doesn't matter if he's rich, King Robert said he'd dower me with Dragonstone."
Viserys felt a red rage rising and caught himself on the parapet. No! No, don't take it out on her. It's his fault. It's all his fault!
He remembered a quiet, comfortable room with red tapestries. Robert Baratheon, crowned, offering him the lordship of Dragonstone... at the price of bending the knee and swearing public allegiance.
"Brother?"
"I feel unwell," he said sharply and turned away. "Pray tell... tell anyone who cares I have retired early."
Somewhere in King's Landing there was wine enough to make him forget this, or at least to dull the ache inside him.
He was losing his sister to the Baratheons and for the life of him he could find no sane road to change that.
Stannis XII
Aemma had bought and furnished the manse, on the slopes of Rhaenys Hill, in that corner formed by the Crown, the Iron Gate and the Arena. Stannis was pleased by the result - it was a refuge for them both from the court without the distance of his new keep at Byrnbridge.
Orys found it less appealing, missing the broad orchards and yards for him to play in. The boy was as rambunctious as Robert had been at that age and even the King's brother couldn't afford a home in King's Landing large enough for that energy.
Fortunately the king himself had the vast central hall of the Crown, not to mention the royal apartments in the Stag Tower and other open spaces, so Orys was visiting his cousins and Stannis could enjoy peace and quiet with his wife - and in this case a few guests.
A handful of servants moved food from the kitchens to a conveniently placed dining chamber fit for no more than a dozen. This evening, as with most evenings when Stannis dined here, there was ample elbow room around the table.
"The farming techniques sent to me a few years ago have returned healthy crops," the new Hand of the King admitted, accepting a refill of his goblet. "Lord Cerwyn is trying the same so I don't see that my other bannermen will object strongly to adopting the same. We know the value of full cellars in the North."
"What concerns me," Catelyn Stark added from where she sat next to her husband, "Is that southern lords will be unco-operative about any arrangement that favours the north at their expense."
Aemma glanced to Stannis for permission and he nodded. "We have our own lessons to learn," she answered. "Even in the Vale winters were months shorter than in the North. The difference is more extreme in the southern Easterlands and the Reach. We can use northern-style farming to wring extra harvests though, in a winter of five years or more."
Stannis nodded again. "You must have seen the difference, Lord Selmy."
"I've been breeding Northern and Dornish horses," the white-haired lord observed. "I don't see why the same shouldn't work for crops. Ashara and I -" He set down his glass and took his wife's hand fondly. "- have been talking to her brother about sending some of our sheep and cattle south to Starfall. He wants to breed hardier animals to last the winter. In return, if our own breeding stock doesn't make it through the winter, we can take our payment from his herds come the spring."
Cersei held out her goblet to the servant for more wine. "Benjen's taught me that bringing our lands through the winter is a matter of thinking ahead," she observed. "It's why we're building fishing ports on the east and west coasts of our lands."
"I noticed that." Her goodbrother glanced over at Benjen. "It's costing you a fair coin."
Benjen nodded. "It will be more than worth it, if we can feed our people. And Cersei has had an idea of how to raise more coin in the north."
"A long, cold winter." Cersei touched the luxuriant fur collar on her gown. "In the south, there will be call for warm furs. Everything I wear is showing off the furs our hunters can gather. This Grand Council gives me the perfect chance to show them off to the ladies of the south."
"So clever," Catelyn said admiringly. "Isn't that silver fox?"
"Indeed!"
Stannis rolled his eyes as Ashara joined the conversation about gowns and showing off the furs the other two northern ladies had brought with them.
Beside him, Aemma gave him a sympathetic smile before offering her own suggestions. Around the table, Ned, Benjen and Barristan all took refuge in their wine and waited patiently for the storm to pass. This lasted through the fish pie and Stannis was just carving a slice of pork for Aemma when Cersei asked a question.
"Prince Stannis, I hope you don't mind my asking, but with the iron foot the maester's made you, are you able to dance?"
"Dance?"
"Yes, my father's hosting a feast in three days. He brought musicians from Casterly Rock and there will be dancing."
"It's true," Benjen agreed. "Cersei has been teaching me the steps to Westerland dances."
"I've not tried to dance since this." Stannis gestured down to the boot covering the false leg he wore.
"Oh well, I'm sure that the way you scramble around ships with Ser Davos, that you can manage one dance," Aemma told him quietly. "As long as it isn't a galliard."
"We should have dancing when we throw a feast," Catelyn suggested. "And show the other lords northern dances."
"What a wonderful idea!" Cersei clapped her hands together. "Benjen's a fine dancer."
"Only with you." Stannis saw the youngest Stark brother take his wife's hand and kiss it.
"I was meaning to ask," Ashara said to Aemma. "Is it true that the king's oldest daughter will marry soon?"
"What? Cassana! But she's so young," protested Catelyn.
"No, Catelyn. I mean Mya."
The Hand's wife made a face. "Oh."
"She's a nice girl," Aemma said judiciously. "And she is betrothed, but it will be a few years before she marries. It's Ronnet Connington, so she'll be lady of Griffin's Roost some day."
"Are the Connington's back in favour?" asked Barristan. He was from the Stormlands originally, and familiar with the houses.
Stannis grunted. "Jon Connington's said to have drunk himself to death. Robert says he has no quarrel with the rest of the house."
"And Alysanne said that the two of them seem to like each other." Aemma smeared mustard on her pork. "That's a good sign for their future together."