Chapter 7: Gwyneth I
Enter the Hapsburgs
30-31 AL
Gwyneth sat on her bed, reading her father's last words with the sunlight.
"By the time you read this I'll have been killed by a snake bite. Terribly humiliating and unfortunate, but there it is.
Now, there are many things that I set in motion that you will have to finish for me. The first is to attend to the sword. If the Prince has not already given it to you, I suggest you dye your hair and go lay in his bed and see how that works. Now, I have already sent to Qohor for a blacksmith, and he should arrive a short while after you read this letter. Do what you wish with the sword, as I am too dead to argue.
The next issue is the matter of the succession. You are undoubtedly my heir, and will succeed me. Whether you can hold onto your position is a different matter. The Harlaws are the greatest threat and you have to deal with them. Qarl has been working on a solution for some time now but has come up with nothing. You may have to find another way. The rest of the lords are too minor to matter. Support Nute until you have children of your own and you should survive this.
Which brings me to the last issue. Alas, since I am dead, the plan to wed you to a Targaryen boy is too risky. You cannot afford the decade of being a bachelor. You need to make your choice, and soon. Don't bother marrying for love - that's what affairs are for.
Oh, and don't make a habit of dying ignominiously like my father and I."
Gwyneth shook with a mixture of amusement, sadness, and anger before flinging the note into the fire. "Typical know-it-all. The Prince isn't even at Dragonstone. And-"
She was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a liveried servant peeked in. "M'lady, Ser Clarence requests your presence."
Gwyneth snorted. "Why? Am I to start going to the sept twice a day now? He already has me waking at the crack of dawn."
The servant gawked for a moment before recovering. "H-he requests your presence. Some visitors have arrived."
Gwyneth raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Very well then, where is he?" "The main hall, M'lady."
Gwyneth got up and walked there herself. While she'd only been living at Dragonstone for a few months, but it had been long enough to familiarize herself with all the important locations. In other words, the mess hall, the training grounds, the main hall, the sept, and her bed.
It took a few minutes, but eventually Gwyneth reached a set of black double doors and knocked. A moment passed before
Ser Clarence Crabb opened the door and spoke. "Going to the septry twice a day is no great burden Lady Greyjoy." Gwyneth stared at him dumbfounded. Ser Clarence continued without smiling. "You are very predictable when it comes to sleeping. Come in." He held the door open for Gwyneth, who entered, still very confused.
She was confused even more by the black goat on the livery of the man who sat at the table. "A Qohori?" she said. The man turned his head at that to look at her. "An
Ironborn Qohori?" The man smiled thinly, and Gwyneth turned to Ser Clarence. "What is- Oh. That was fast." Ser Clarence raised an eyebrow at that. "It seems you already know what this is about. Come, sit." Still very confused, Gwyneth followed Ser Clarence to the table. "Why am I here?" Gwyneth asked. "This is your father's hired man. You're here to negotiate terms with him." Ser Clarence replied. Gwyneth nodded wordlessly and sat down across from the blacksmith.
The man smiled again before he spoke. "My name is Yohn, my lady. I admit, though I've had many clients, it is quite rare to get a request from someone who assures me that they are dead. However, the pay was good enough to make it worth my while to investigate this oddity. Now, may I see the sword please?"
Gwyneth looked at Ser Clarence, who just reached under the table and placed the sword, scabbard and all, on the table. With a glance at Gwyneth, the man reached for the sword and unsheathed it, running his fingers along the blade.
"Yes, I believe I can work with this. Tell me, then, what do you wish I make with this?"
Gwyneth thought about it for a moment. "An axe." The man chortled slightly. "Such a typical thing for one of the Ironborn to request. Very well then. However, the forging of the axe requires less metal than this sword has. Is there something else you want in addition?"
Gwyneth answered instantly this time. "A dagger." She heard Ser Clarence cough. "Doing that finger dance with a normal dagger is bad enough. Do it with one of Valyrian Steel and you'll cut off your fingers for sure!" The man chortled again. "True, but she's thinking only of the challenge and the prestige." Yohn nodded. "Very well then. An axe and a dagger for a sword. My work will be done in a fortnight, if you consent to my use of the forge." The last was directed at Ser Clarence, who only nodded.
Finger Eater and Finger Dancer were delivered a fortnight later, as promised.
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"Father, I present to you your niece, Gwyneth Greyjoy."
Gwyneth stared daggers at Myranda as she entered, and muttered under her breath. "Thank you,
first cousin." Myranda's only response was a wink.
Gwyneth was garbed like Myranda - a mixture of mail and leather, with Finger Eater on her hip and Dancer hanging from her neck like a necklace. Which made curtsying quite awkward. "Greetings, Uncle Ronnel."
The Lord Paramount of the Vale sat on a dais facing her, with his lady wife standing off to the side, looking quite timid. Ronnel stood up and bowed. "Hello, lord niece. Welcome to the Gates of the Moon. I trust there were no incidents on the way from Gulltown?"
Gwyneth suppressed a wince and shook her head to cover it. "A minor skirmish, nothing more."
Myranda chuckled at that, along with some of the footmen with her, except for the one that had made the mistake of trying to protect Gwyneth. Ronnel blinked, but quickly recovered. "Oh, I hope it wasn't uncomfortable. Lord Gwyneth, I believe you know my wife, Valiete Tyrell." He motioned to Valiete to come over, and Gwyneth sighed internally. Valiete smiled, curtsied, and walked over to her husband. "I hope you will forgive my son Robar's absence; he was recently married, and has taken his wife up to the north coastline. He married a Stark girl, and wants to see her lands from afar.
Gwyneth blinked at that. "How long ago was this?"
Ronnel looked away in thought for a moment. "About two years ago, I think." Myranda nodded. "Two years, lord father." Ronnel patted Valiete on the shoulder, which elicited no response. "We have so many children, and some are still uncalled for. I'm thankful I have more sons than daughters - only so many dowries can be paid." He chuckled a little, a lonely sound.
Gwyneth sighed. "Oh. Well, at least I didn't miss a wedding between cousins by a fortnight." She nodded at Valiete. "I have heard of my aunt, but have never met her. The only family on my mother's side I have met was my late uncle Owyn."
Ronnel nodded. "I knew Owyn in his life. He was a good soldier, and a good ruler. Highgarden will rarely see another like him." Valiete nodded, still silent. Myranda took the opportunity to speak. "Perhaps the Iron Lord will come to Bryan's wedding, when he is wed." Ronnel laughed, and Gwyneth glared daggers at Myranda again, who smirked. "Yes, well, he must be betrothed first..."
Gwyneth closed her eyes and started counting. "Bryan is your... fourth son?"
Ronnel nodded. "Nine name days under his belt at the moment. He's currently at King's Landing, being tutored by Prince Maelon."
Gwyneth nodded and waved her hand. "I have a half-sister the same age. Just something to think about." She sighed. "My stay will be short. I have problems enough at home, and a marriage to sort out."
Curiously, that produced an effect from Valiete, whose eyes started to beam. Ronnel looked to be deep in thought for a moment, then nodded. "Of course. Myranda, would you please show Gwyneth to her quarters? Please forgive me that I can't show you the Eyrie - we don't stay up there during winter."
Myranda nodded and Gwyneth curtsied, and the two left the hall. In a voice, Myranda spoke. "You should bring up the marriage frankly to my mother. I think she would appreciate it."
Gwyneth cocked her head. "Why? I'd think that your mother wouldn't like me mentioning my father's bastards."
"So don't mention them." Myranda snickered. "And it will give her some reason to speak to my father on affairs of state, and give them something to discuss together."
Gwyneth was confused. "Then why would I come to your mother to talk about marriage?"
"Fine, speak to my father then. But you should bring it up. Our families are already related through this marriage and that."
Gwyneth walked on, confused, then cocked her head again. Then she laughed. "Oh. Oh you mean me." Gwyneth stopped for a moment, thinking. "Well, I guess that works."
Myranda looked slyly at Gwyneth. "I would be careful, however, if you show such an iron head to my parents, They may not be too warm about the idea."
"Why?"
"They want intelligent children." Myranda stopped before a door. "Here is your room, my lord."
This time, Gwyneth didn't hide the wince. "You're one to talk about intelligence. Here I just thought your father was willfully ignorant."
Myranda smiled. "He's not ignorant, he's noble. Sometimes there isn't much of a difference, I'll admit. The servants will attend to your needs, and you are invited to our meal tonight." She curtsied, overly dramatic. "My iron lady."
Gwyneth returned the curtsy. "You got it right this time. I'm impressed."
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That night's meal went rather well. Gwyneth broached the topic with her aunt ahead of time, but was still mildly surprised when Ronnel agreed to it, specifically since she had specified that any children would bear the name Greyjoy and not Arryn. Still, it was a nice meal, and afterwards Gwyneth secured passage to the North, intending to continue north and meet that branch of the family before taking a ship home from Deepwood Motte.
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Gwyneth stepped off the ship and walked towards her half-sister. Lujja was easily recognizable, as she was the only person on the Isles with such a dark skin tone. She and Gwyneth weren't particularly close, but they didn't hate each other.
Gwyneth offered her hand to Lujja. She'd introduced Gwyneth to the art of combat, and while Gwyneth had no doubt she could now trounce Lujja, she was also a passable fighter. "So, sister, who ruled in my stead?" Lujja sighed deeply. "Lord Euron Volmark." Gwyneth cocked her head. "Lord Euron Volmark? To my knowledge, no such man exists." Lujja shook her head. "He does. You'd know him better as the Master of Coin."
Gwyneth froze. "And what, pray tell, is he lord
of?" Lujja let go of Gwyneth. "Blacktyde."
Her move turned out to be right one, because Gwyneth's hands clenched into fists. "How?" "He claimed that he could do a better job administrating it. Considering the circumstances regarding how it came into the family's possession in the first place, and your... unpopularity, no one opposed it."
Gwyneth spoke through gritted teeth. "That bastard." Lujja nodded. "Margot is distraught; her best friend has left with no sign of return." "That IDIOT!" Gwyneth screamed, then calmed down. Slightly. "Doesn't he know what he's brought upon himself? What I'll be forced to do to him now?" Lujja nodded. "And he probably is using his daughter to stop you."
Gwyneth's eyes burned. "Lujja, go find the Master-at-Arms, whoever he is now. If he's in the pay of Lord Euron, fire him. If he isn't, tell him to arrest Euron on the slightest infraction as soon as possible." She stormed off into Pyke after Lujja nodded.
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Gwyneth sat in the septry, staring at a mirror as the Septon worked on her hair. "So, Tristifer, how did the one Ironborn Septon in all of Westeros end up back on the Isles?"
The young man chuckled. "I was a Drowned Man in training for a time. Then I almost drowned in one of your father's reavings. I fell out near Oldtown, as they were coming back, and I decided at that point that I really didn't like drowning. So I stayed there, for a while. I was... an oddity."
Gwyneth chuckled as well. "An interesting story. But it doesn't explain how a Septon became the Drowned Man of Seagrave."
"Ah, that. A moment, please." Tristifer stepped back. "How do you want it done." "Get rid of the hair, put it into buns. The long hair is a liability." He smiled. "Ah, yes, the Warrior Lady of the Isles. How did that story go again? The-"
"dark-skinned bastard sister beat the rockborn daughter with a stick while I flailed around trying to protect myself. Yes, very entrancing." He chuckled a little bit. "Certainly an amusing image." "Seagrave, Tristifer?" "Ah, yes. Well, I don't think they wanted too. But they ran out of Drowned Men, you see." Another light chuckle. "And they had heard tales, you see, of the Iron Septon in Oldtown. So, grudgingly, they offered me the position. I bet it rankled their beards too."
Gwyneth chuckled. "I'm sure it did. Say, how did you learn how to do this? The hair, I mean." She heard Tristifer suck his breath in before continuing. "Well, like I said, I was an oddity. After a few...
encounters, I became known as the person to go to regarding hair. It, uh, made me more intriguing." Gwyneth tried to suppress a chuckle, not entirely successfully. A few more moments passed before Tristifer stepped off to the side again. "There, we're done." Gwyneth grabbed Tristifer's hand. "No, we aren't."
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Gwyneth sat on the dais, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. The child was still small, but it was becoming noticeable now. In front of her sat a chained Euron Volmark. To her right was her Castellan, Lord Meldred, who was currently doing a wonderful job of exaggerating Euron's shortcomings, faults, and offenses.
The trial droned on for another few hours, but the outcome was never really in doubt. Euron would be sent to the Wall and forgotten. Gwyneth would have preferred to put his head on a pike, but then she could never face his daughter Frynne. So she had decided on the next best thing - eternal exile.
The verdict came as predicted - guilty - and Euron Volmark was sent to the wall for bribery. Happy to be finished with the sordid affair, Gwyneth slowly stood up and started walking to her chambers. Others would have called it waddling.
She was interrupted by a messenger, who urged her to come to the Maester. She retorted by requesting the Maester attend her instead.
The Maester arrived a short while later. He was the only other member of the Faith on the Isles - at least, insofar as Gwyneth knew. He came bearing two sealed scrolls.
"My lady, a raven flew in from King's Landing, followed shortly by one from Oldtown. The latter was white, my lady." Gwyneth nodded. "And the other one?" The Maester held it out to Gwyneth, who clucked, irritated, and then cut open the scroll with Finger Dancer. After reading it twice over to make sure she read it correctly, Gwyneth lowered it carefully.
"Well, if this isn't an omen I don't know what is."
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Gwyneth at this time.
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There is no gap between 27 and 30 AL. I just got the years wrong. My bad. Oh, and Finger Dancer is purely flavor. It has no actual effect on gameplay.
