Benton unraveled the first parchment once again, re-reading the letter addressed to him from Lord Feri Wyl, foster-father to Vaughan. It was pleasant enough, in its’ own way, especially considering that the man was a complete stranger to Benton. It politely inquired after his health, and that of the Lady of the House, as well as a brief mention of his household missing Ser Vaughan. It was upon that point that Lord Feri had departed customary niceties and become quite blunt. It would seem that his daughter, Lady Saryah, had expressed a sudden and very strong interest in the swamplands of the great North. Lord Feri thought it worth noting that it was initially his niece, one Norie Sand, who had first suggested that Lady Saryah perhaps offer herself in marriage to Lord Benton’s heir. Norie, who was the acknowledged daughter of Lord Feri’s blood-sister, was also proposing a marriage and sizable dowry, could she but be considered a possible match for young Ser Vaughan. Lord Feri expressed apologies for the brusqueness of the ladies missive, but suspected that a man so brilliant as to be Lord of Straasa, and with so noble a brother as Ser Alec, would understand and appreciate candor.
This Lord Feri was not entirely incorrect in presuming Straasa independence of spirit. And yet, there were aspects of Dornish culture which had left him flabbergasted: the women were proposing marriage? And not just Ladies, but a base-born girl, this Norie Sand? A Sand with a dowry!? Benton knew it was not unusual for the Lords and Ladies of Dorne to take lovers publicly, and even to elevate them in status. He recalled the rumor of Ser Oberyn Martell having several such paramours scattered about the desert. It was unusual, though certainly not unheard of, for the bastard children of those unions to be placed in line to inherit. Still, the very idea of her audacity was disquieting to Benton.
The laws of inheritance were another thing that had him quite concerned. Should Dayne marry this Saryah, would she deem it necessary to impose some of her culture? What of the possibility that no male heir was brought forth by Dayne? Would his daughter then take on the leadership of House Straasa? He was quite confident that Vaughan would have the great good sense to refuse this Sand woman’s marriage offer. Besides the obvious insult to his station as an anointed knight, Benton was convinced that Vaughan had little interest at present in taking a wife. It was certainly a risk to have both sons married to members – of whatever rank! – of the same household, particularly those from Dorne. And yet, this marriage tie to Dorne via Dayne could prove quite laudable for the future of House Straasa.
He considered the location of House Wyl, situated on the northeastern coast of Dorne. Their trade relations with the Nine Free Cities was enviable, and it certainly made for a great deal of wealth to be retained by the lords of the harbor there. Items of tremendous value could be brought directly to House Straasa, providing a rather unique opportunity for a source of income that while slow in coming if by land, would be well worth the delay. With the girl’s dowry alone, Straasa could easily afford to establish a small village nearer to Saltspear again, thereby providing access to the seas, and expediting the travel-time of Free-Cities goods. The benefit of it was startling, and was nearly enough to offset the political attention that it would generate for House Straasa.
The relationship between Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms had been tremendously strained ever since Prince Doran’s sister Elia had been savagely murdered by Gregor Clegane. Rumors always held some grain of truth, after all. Prince Doran had called for justice many times over the course of King Robert’s reign, but had yet to be granted such. That a loyal retainer of the Prince was allowing his daughter and to travel to the North on the heels of a marriage proposal that was as yet unaccepted was mind-boggling to Benton. On one hand, Lady Saryah’s retinue was sure to catch the notice of anyone who encountered the party at sea or on the roads – a rather bold statement in and of itself. It had been a great deal less notable to send Vaughan south. Benton could not help but wonder what gain Lord Feri Wyl perceived in this match.
He sighed audibly, feeling a slow ache creep in behind his eyes. The headaches had become increasingly worse in the past several months, though he rarely let on to anyone save his Lady wife, whose gentle touch was often enough to knead the worry from his neck and shoulders, if not removing the pain from his skull.
The other sheaf of parchment held an even more mixed sort of ‘blessing.’ It had been a while in coming, Benton knew all too well. Some promises made to House Straasa during the Greyjoy Rebellion two years past had been called to light by Alec during his recent travels through the Westerlands. It would seem that the Lannister answer for a debt paid in Straasa blood was to marry an obscurely related third-cousin of Ser Ilyn Payne to Amalinde. Alois Payne was nearing thirteen, and he had shown some promise as a squire to Ser Stanton Westerling of the Crag. The proposal, set up for Lord Benton’s consideration, took into account the fact that Amalinde had little to offer in the way of a dowry, and that Alois Payne was likely to remain a squire long into his days.
Apparently, in spite of House Straasa’s relatively high degree of influence in the North, the West could not see fit to be bothered much to make good on those old promises. Benton thought to himself that while the offer was perhaps worth pretending to consider, there was little else that had to be done to maintain the ruse. Her reaction to the suggestion of Payne had been a little over the top, but he understood well enough. The girl was occasionally too bright for her own good. All that talk of alliance by marriage to Howland Reed! It was as though she was already aware…Her true betrothal would be revealed in time, after all. Why not enjoy a few gifts on the behalf of her suitors? Benton set aside the second missive with a wry smirk.
“All in good time,” he mused. “Time, which I must needs put to good use.”
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Amalinde’s head was reeling. So very much had happened in the last three days, and in spite of the training she had been receiving from both Uncle Alec and her mother – the former in the subtle art of politicking and the former in the arts of being a proper Lady – she fled the Great Hall and Tabin, feeling her already broken heart fall into the pit of her belly. Thinking of him now, and what he had made clear by sitting away from her at the feast, brought the tears streaming from her eyes once more. He was her truest friend, and she had such a strong affection for him already. Yet in what had proved to be her most dire hour, her one true friend had left her stranded, alone in a sea of faces she had thought she knew. Tabin had even raised a glass to toast her betrothal to a stranger, and worse yet a stranger with the surname Payne! It was that which had pushed her to action; her brave Reed had failed her.
Her father’s expression as she stood to question the betrothal had been full of a fury she had never seen directed at herself, and yet she was not intimidated by him. Her Lord Father had never once even so much as scolded her for any defiance. Uncle Alec, however…the look of disapproval was almost enough to cause her tongue to freeze in her mouth. Almost. However, when he stood and departed, stating that the conversation was at an end, Amalinde felt her heart shatter to a thousand pieces. It was only then that Tabin had approached her and asked her to get some fresh air.
“You can keep your putrid swamp air,” she had told him, the calmness of her voice surprising her. With that, she had fled to the basement, where the strength of her grief overwhelmed her senses entirely. She did not know how long she wept, only that after the tears had finally ceased, the first hints of a plan had begun to come together in her mind. Latching onto a shred of hope, Amalinde finally drifted off into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.
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Tobias had crept away shortly after Ser Alec had left the dinner table. He was certain that he wanted no part of Lord Benton’s fury, and so wanted to make himself as scarce as possible. He slipped into the kitchen, hoping to secure one of the small, tart apples that Ser Alec had brought home with him from the south. After a few moments of futile searching, the seneschal plopped himself down beside the already-waiting sheaves of parchment that would show the full tallies of Straasa trade during this most recent excursion. Ser Alec had not been idle in his time away, Tobias was certain. Not only had he brought home two offers of marriage, he had also secured a rather impressive position for his petulant niece. Tobias himself had been somewhat shocked that Alec had arranged for Amalinde to be married into a notable banner house in the Westerlands; bannerman to House Lannister could mean only wealth and notoriety for House Straasa, and this would allow forgiveness for the heir taking a Dornish wife, and his brother taking to wife a base-born woman! And yet, Amalinde did make a fair point regarding the Reeds: they were “allies” only because they were not enemies. And Lord Benton had agreed to foster young Tabin with unspoken understanding of the lad’s strong ties to Howland Reed. Surely fostering the boy in their House was a good enough cause for the Reeds to consider the Straasa more than neutral neighbors.
Had Amalinde been Tobias’s own daughter, the question would not even had been asked; the girl would have accepted the offer of marriage with grace, and would have been humbled that she had the opportunity to bring such an honor to her house. After all, the mere name Lannister was flecked with gold!
“Women!” he mumbled under his breath. He gave a bit of a start as a mouse hopped out from one of the leather satchels, carrying off a chunk of stale-looking bread. Well and good, he thought; let the mice feast tonight, too.
“Good master Tobias?” Alyn, one of the few servants of the house had poked his head into the kitchen. The serving lad’s voice squeaked on the delivery of the castellan’s name. “It seems we have some…additional…guests.”
Before he could even think to question this, peeking around the servant’s waist was a mass of dark honey-colored curls framing a porcelain-like face, set with the greenest eyes Tobias had ever seen. The youth was clad in a too-large green tunic, which helped set his eyes to fairly glow in their emerald cast. He felt himself compelled to stand and grace the youth with a bow. “Be welcome here, young Reed. Have you traveled here alone? Surely not!” Tobias scurried across the kitchen as quickly as his bowed, aged legs could carry him. Sure as stone, standing in the hall behind the youth were two other Reeds – or at least Crannogmen; Tobias could never tell them apart from each other anyhow – another young man, like enough to Tabin that he might have been a brother, and a somewhat older boy, each bearing the three-pronged spears infamously called Frog spears in the North. “Be welcome, all of you. Please forgive us; we have only just had some rather exciting news, and the family is rather…energized at present. I am Tobias, and I hold the honorable position of seneschal for House Straasa. There is still feasting happening in the Great Hall, and I assure you, you would be most welcome to join in the festivities. Your names, if you please? I will have my boy announce you to Lord Benton presently!”
“Thank you, good seneschal,” the elder individual spoke. Tobias took a second glance at her – for now having spoken, it was quite plain that she was indeed a woman – and hoped that the flush he felt creep up to his ears was not overly notable in the dim light of the kitchens. “I am called Moira. My brother is Boan. And this strapping young lad is Llyr. We came because our cousin has need of us. We are happy to receive your hospitality.”
The formality of her graciousness was a trifle disconcerting to Tobias, who was still relatively unaccustomed to the strangeness of his long-time neighbors’ tendency toward sudden appearances and disappearances. “Alyn, please see Lady Moira, Master Boan, and Master Llyr to the Great Hall. At once.”
Alyn did not need to be told twice.
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Delayne paced restlessly across her bedchamber, pondering all of the evening’s goings-on. Her maidservants had all been dismissed for the evening, even before turning down the bed, but Delayne had much on her mind and could not afford to be distracted by chatter. Three possible betrothals, a houseful of guests from near and far, and her daughter’s outburst were enough to give Delayne fits.
Amalinde’s behavior had embarrassed Delayne profoundly; a Lady was able to maintain herself even in the face of adversity. Still, she was eternally grateful that her husband had chosen to make the announcement of betrothals and forthcoming Dornish visitors during the same meal, so as to encourage the house-servants to spend their gossip and focus on the preparations. Amalinde’s rudeness could be ignored, for the time being.
Her own curiosity about the visitors once more drew her thoughts away from her daughter. Dornishmen and women were known to be sultry, vivacious and hot-blooded. These visitors from House Wyl would certainly be “Salty Dornishmen,” she thought, remembering the distinctions in appearance and custom throughout the southern nation. She wondered whether Lady Saryah had the olive-toned skin and lithe appearance that many Salty Dornish men and women were said to have. The Rhoynish blood in their veins lent them their swarthy appearances. Likely she would be a beauty in her own right, if a touch exotic-looking. And perhaps, should her darling Dayne choose to wed the girl, she would be of tremendous help in reining Amalinde into her own role as a Lady.
She wondered again what sorts of foods and libations would be most appropriate for the welcoming feast. Surely venison would be a requirement, along with fresh turtle soup. Was there anything in the swamp that could provide a comparable level of spiciness to the supper as the firey foods of the south? She might have to ask Tabin for a few suggestions of plants – or animals – whose bits or pieces could be utilized. There would be cause to breach casks of the drier reds and whites that usually went undrunk by any save Alec. She wondered whether Vaughan had developed a taste for the wines, and made a note to ask him to accompany her to the cellars to help make the proper choice for their guests. So much to do, and so little time, if Benton spoke truly of the party’s presence a mere week from Castle Swampstone.
Whatever their purpose, and however long they might stay, Delayne vowed that they would have a most pleasant time at Castle Swampstone, along with all the Dornish visitors. It was going to be quite a bustle here before long!
“Leave the politics to the men,” she said aloud to her coverlet. “And leave the plans for yet another feast to the Lady of the House!”
