CH 2 - Responsibility
Albright paced agitatedly before the gate of Peckledon, every heavy footfall kicking up great plumes of dust. Behind him, with his horse and mounted on steeds of their own were three of his courtiers. Cadwyn, Lewys and the fat Maester, Rolph. A retinue had been encouraged by the Castellan, but rejected out of hand by their Lord – he’d said that he didn’t want the common soldiers seeing his anxiety. That seemed quite a good idea now, as the trio sat in silence watching Albright going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, before at last he stopped and turned to them.
“What if she’s ugly?”
The trebled noises of exasperation.
“My lord…” said Cadwyn. “You do understand these tales of her beauty were not some story invented in the past few weeks as a jape?”
Albright looked down, to the side, and then back at Cadwyn. “But… she’s Dornish, maybe they’ve got a different idea of what beauty means in Dorne. I mean, maybe they just can’t take their eyes off gigantic noses and tiny black beady eyes,” he would have been drunk by now, but the three councillors had convened the previous night and confiscated every last drop of alcohol in the castle.
“They do not,” answered Rolph. “And even if they did, your duties would not change,” the Maester clucked to himself. “Nobody ever said that a woman had to be beautiful to put a babe in her belly.”
“And you’d know plenty about that, wouldn’t you
Maester?” was Albright’s venomous reply.
Rolph’s jaw hung open, and Lewys nudged him aside. “The Maester’s right,” the master-of-arms told his lord gently. “Good looks or no, you need an heir, unless you want this castle to pass to some distant cousin you’ve never met in your life when you die.”
Albright stiffened. “I’m twenty-five, I hardly think I’m set to drop dead any time soon.”
“Aye?” said Lewys, voice growing harder. “And what if you catch the sickness that took your father from us? What if your horse throws you and you break your back? What if an unhappy peasant were to cast a stone and put a crack in your skull? What if some distant cousin you’ve never met in your life figures out he’s next in line for a lordship and sends a blade at you in the night?” Lewys leaned forward. “These are uncertain times, my lord. A child? That’s a certainty.”
“Yes, but…” Albright was faltering, Cadwyn nodded to Lewys and pressed the attack.
“Of course, my lord, the betrothal could always be set aside, you’ve said no vows yet,” ‘Bright looked up, his face somewhat hopeful. “Though you may of course be called upon to explain why the Sword of the Morning’s sister wasn’t good enough for you.”
Albright paled. “Seven hells!” he spat, turning violently away and going back to his pacing.
The three councillors shared a victorious smile.
The remainder of the wait passed in silence until, half an hour or so later, a sentry called from above.
“Riders on the road! At least four score of them. They bear banners; three stars above a red mountain on white, and a sword on purple.”
“The Daynes, Lords of Red Mountain,” Cadwyn announced after a moment, attracting a dirty look from Rolph. “Time to meet your bride my Lord.”
Albright hadn’t moved since the sentry spoke. He stood stock still in the middle of the road leading up to his castle’s gates. He was swaying slightly. All three courtiers stared. Then, with an expression much akin to panic, Albright rushed over to them and vaulted onto his horse with such force that he nearly overbalanced and fell straight off the other side. He steadied himself just as the first of the horsemen appeared in the distance.
For a few moments, they just watched and waited as the Dornishmen grew nearer.
“…Oh bugger this,” Albright spurred his mount forward and burst towards the visitors. Rolph almost did the same, but Lewys shook his head.
Cadwyn laughed. “Amazing. Now he looks eager, not intimidated. He makes the right move by mistake.”
“Here’s to many more mistakes,” replied the master-at-arms.
--
The hooves of Albright’s horse thundered as it raced onward. It was a fine beast, a present from his father for his twentieth nameday. Back then, Alric had told his son that it was about time he found a match, and Albright had simply laughed it off. Now, he wondered if it had not perhaps been a better idea to look for a woman to marry himself. His father had never denied him anything, he would not have minded if he’d chosen to marry some local girl from Peckletown, so long as he was happy. Instead, he was promised to some woman from Dorne that he’d never met in his entire life. Certainly Albright had heard the stories of Ashara Dayne, but he’d also heard that Tywin Lannister shit gold, that Tyrion Lannister was a twisted spawn of dark gods and that Albright Lannister was the bastard of a giant from north of the Wall. Well, Tywin visited the privy same as other men, and Tyrion was just an ugly dwarf. ‘Bright had laughed when he’d heard that last one though, telling the rest of the inn that it must have been a terribly handsome giant.
He hoped Lady Ashara had a sense of humour at least, this promised to be a terribly dull marriage if not.
It wasn’t long before the distant smudge of a crowd resolved itself into individual horses, individual riders. Albright slowed his pace, lest he greet his bride by crashing headlong into her. Seeing him there, one of the Dornish riders urged his own horse forward to meet the young Lannister. A man of about his age, dark haired, riding a mount just as dark.
“Greetings,” said Albright, as the Dornishman grew near. “And welcome to my lands. I am Albright Lannister, first of his name, Lord of Peckledon.”
The Dornishman inclined his head respectfully. “I am Tion Dayne, heir to Red Mountain,” he favoured Albright with a somewhat cold smile. “I’m to be your brother-in-law.”
“Then well met to you, my brother.”
Before any more words could be exchanged, another rider appeared alongside Tion. This time, it was a woman. Although ‘a woman’ didn’t quite seem to do her justice. A breath-taking woman with gorgeous violet eyes that set Albright’s heart hammering the moment they met his. That was a start.
“My lady,” ‘Bright managed, wresting control of his tongue .
“Lord Albright, allow me to introduce to you my sister; Lady Ashara Dayne.”
The Dornish most definitely had the same idea of ‘beautiful’ as the Westerlands. Albright nearly fainted.
--
The next few days were like something out of a dream. Peckledon had never seemed so full, and none of it had ever been quite so much Albright’s responsibility. There were men to find lodgings for, horses to stable and wedding arrangements to be made. The young lord never thought he’d have to spend an afternoon discussing the hangings with which he wanted the great hall to be decorated, nor just
how many different varieties of meat he wanted available at the feasts. The Dornishmen were well behaved at least, though they largely kept to themselves apart from Tion. Persistently, the Dayne attempted to press Albright on when the Lannisters were going to call their banners and enter the war against the Usurper, Robert. At length, ‘Bright was forced to turn to the man and tell him that such things were frankly not his decision, and that if he wanted to ask a Lannister about the war, then Casterly Rock wasn’t far to the west.
He did manage to hit on the trick of diverting Tion with Lewys, though. Both men were just as devoted to the Seven, and very happy to spend hours debating religious matters with one another whilst Albright thoroughly wished he could slip out of Peckledon for five minutes to get a drink. The bastards were
rationing him.
Albright also got to know his soon-to-be wife a little better in the mean-time – once he managed to get over the part of the dream that stole the words out of his mouth. Asides from being quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, Ashara was also perfectly pleasant in conversation – proud of her house, but if she bore any resentment towards ‘Bright for the impending marriage to a man far distant from her home, she did not show it. She was quite lovely, and were it not for one thing, Albright’s nerves would have been greatly soothed.
But in addition to being beautiful, she was wholly miserable. ‘Bright couldn’t count himself as the most astute man in the Seven Kingdoms, but he knew enough to be able to tell when somebody was deep in despair. His father had been much the same after his mother had died attempting to bear his second child, and the babe had died along with her. Naturally, Albright’s first thought that it had to be the marriage, but on talking to Tion, who wasn’t much of a liar (and too anxious at offending a Lannister to avoid the question), he’d managed to coax out the story that she’d been that way ever since she’d given birth to a stillborn.
That had made Albright laugh. His not-quite lady wife had almost birthed a bastard, no wonder Lord Ulrick hadn’t objected to marrying her off to a minor Lannister. Well… it was not as if Albright had not lain with women before now, and the indiscretion didn’t bother him so much as Ashara’s misery. He couldn’t imagine that it would be much fun – or child…ful to be married with a depressed woman. For the time being though, there wasn’t much he could do about that. Albright supposed that if she’d shared his fear of an ugly spouse, said fear was by now alleviated, which was a silver lining for the both of them.
This was never how he expected he’d be getting married. He thought that… well, he thought that there would be something
romantic to it – more romantic than “Hello politically advantageous woman, my father’s distant cousin asked me to marry you, let’s find a septon” at least. Albright wasn’t entirely sure what said romance might have construed, but he was forced to glumly admit that it would probably have been something along the lines of meeting someone in a tavern, having an ill-advised tumble, and then marrying them to keep his child’s surname from being ‘Hill’.
See, this was what happened when he was sober, he started
thinking.
Gods he needed a drink.