Chapter Text
Robert Redwyne had always loved the scent of the Arbor during the harvest – the blend of earth warmed beneath the sun, sea salt, and the sweet aroma of grapes.
But on this day, it felt suffocating.
In his hand, he clutched a letter sealed with the Queen’s crest, rereading for the hundredth time the lines concerning Brienne’s "failing health" and the "fruits of her service to the crown."
He remembered how, over a year ago, he had seen her off himself. She had been bright, brighter than the sun, her laughter echoing across the wharf. He had handed her up onto the ship with his own hands, promising her that she would become the most brilliant lady in the capital.
"I sent her there myself" – the thought burned hotter than the midday heat.
Robert walked slowly down the path deeper into the garden, gripping the parchment with the royal seal. He attempted to weave together the rapturous girlhood phrases of her letters with the rumors that had drifted to the Arbor over the past year.
Brienne had departed for the capital in full bloom, confident in her own beauty, yet completely ignorant of life beyond the Reach and beautiful ballads.
There had been no intrigue in her letters, only the bright, dazzling splendor of the capital. She had enthusiastically described royal feasts to Robert, the new fashions of silken gowns, and how young knights vied for her favor at tournaments. Brienne rejoiced in this attention. What unwed lady-in-waiting would not?
She had even shared court gossip with her brother, overheard from the elder, more experienced ladies of the Queen. Yet she relayed them with genuine innocence and curiosity.
She wrote with reverence of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, seeing him as a legend come to life, and spoke respectfully of Prince Daeron, whose character seemed to her the very center of wisdom and honor.
Queen Naerys, whose only son had grown long ago, had been carrying twins at the time. In her letters, Brienne devotedly described how the Queen would seat her close by, how they prayed together in the sept and read. Brienne sincerely admired Her Grace, completely failing to notice the nest of vipers she had stepped into, and the predators circling the throne.
Robert recalled the unsettling news that had recently reached the Arbor from the capital.
The Queen had nearly died during a agonizing labor, losing one of the twins – only Princess Daenerys survived. Robert remembered the anxiety with which Brienne wrote of those days, how she prayed at the bedside of the fading Queen.
The court back then had been rife with foul rumors: the King’s mistress, Barba Bracken, had borne him a bastard only a fortnight before the Queen's twins arrived, and her father, while the Queen hovered on the brink of death, was already openly boasting that Barba would become the new queen.
But the moment Naerys recovered even slightly, Prince Daeron and the Dragonknight showed their steel, casting the arrogant mistress and her bastard out of King’s Landing.
The King had quickly found solace in the arms of a new favorite, Melissa Blackwood, but Robert had no doubt that the monarch's stung resentment toward his son and brother remained.
Dispatches and letters from other lords painted a chilling picture of what King’s Landing was turning into during this first year of the new king's reign. Aegon IV, whom men were increasingly calling the Unworthy, ruled the realm with the capricious self-indulgence of a spoiled child.
The court was fracturing rapidly.
Around Prince Daeron gathered men of honor, old lords, and the Dornishmen who had come with his lady wife – they sought to maintain some semblance of order. Around the King himself swarmed a flock of sycophants, ready to indulge his majesty’s every whim and lust. It was enough to make Aegon laugh at a feast or to nod along with his latest foolish notion to be granted lands, titles, or offices. The treasury amassed by previous kings was slipping through the monarch's fingers on gold for whores and lavish feasts, while the ancient laws of Westeros were supplanted by short-lived royal decrees.
Foul rumors trailed Aegon's character. It was said that his generosity was merely the reverse side of a petty, sadistic malice. He relished humiliating proud men. He who drank from the same cup with the King yesterday might find today that his ancestral privileges had been stripped and handed to some minor lord, purely for the King's amusement. And above all, Aegon hated those who reminded him of duty and honor – his wife Naerys and his noble brother Aemon.
In his sister’s recent letters, Robert had sensed a growing detachment, but he had dismissed it, assuming she was occupied with courtly duties. Now he wondered what she had truly meant to say, and what she had been hiding.
For that detachment had begun roughly two moons ago...
Right after the feast celebrating the first year of the King's reign.
She had written to Robert of that day with joyful anticipation: “The King has promised to be gracious to Her Grace’s attendants, he praised my diligence...”
Brienne had simply been glad of the attention – a foolish, pure girl, proud of her beauty.
Robert caught himself in a cynical thought: the King had never intended to make Brienne a grand favorite, nor did he mean to shower her kin with gold. Aegon had simply struck at the Queen, choosing the most defenseless soul in her circle, the one Naerys had grown to cherish as a daughter. A night or two in the royal chambers, a quenched lust, a wife’s wounded pride – and the King had instantly forgotten the handmaiden, turning his gaze to others.
The words of Queen Naerys, filled with guarded compassion, struck like a blow. "The fruits of service."
Anger swelled within him like a tide, crashing through his usual composure. King Aegon, that... that boar bloated with lust!
He had planned a match for her that would have made the entire Reach sigh with envy – Highgarden, or perhaps even another Great House, if he dared be entirely bold in his ambitions.
Robert cast a glance toward the inner garden, where he had been heading.
There, his lady wife, Celyse Redwyne, watched over the play of their firstborn. Aleyna, his three-year-old daughter, was already showing a stubborn willful streak, while little Ryam, his heir, was clumsily testing his feet in the grass, attempting in vain to take his first steps.
He had a strong family, a secure rear, and an alliance with Oldtown that made the Arbor fleet all the more formidable.
But Brienne...
But now... now...
If his fears were borne out, Brienne would no longer be the coveted match for whom the heirs of great houses would contend. Now she was becoming a burden, a living reminder of the lust of a king whom everyone had grown to tolerate, yet none dared accuse.
Only the Queen’s seal and her promise gave him the right to hold his head up. The Queen had effectively commanded that Brienne be deemed innocent, but commands do not kill the whispers behind one's back.
He closed his eyes, imagining how he would meet her at the harbor.
Would he see in her eyes how much remained of the girl who had sailed away a year ago?
And what would Celyse say? As a true Hightower, she placed reputation above all else. His wife would not appreciate "gifts" from King’s Landing.
– Robert?
Celyse’s voice, soft and clear, startled him from his trance. She stood a few paces away, her head tilted slightly. The sun turned her perfectly styled hair to gold, and a gentle, proper concern shone in her grey eyes, fitting for a loyal wife.
– You stand so still that the children will soon mistake you for one of the statues in the garden, –she came closer, a faint trace of a smile in her voice. – The children have grown weary waiting for their father to deign to join their little triumphs. Ryam took nearly two steps before you arrived.
Robert turned to face her fully.
Celyse looked flawless: serene, domestic, in a gown of a milky hue that suited her fair hair so well. She did not ask what was amiss, though she had surely noticed the crumpled parchment in his hand.
– Forgive me, Celyse, – he forced his fingers to unclench, releasing the letter. – A letter from the capital.
He refrained from approaching the children, fearing his grim countenance might distress them.
Celyse, noting his hesitation, gestured to the maids.
– Take the children inside. The day is growing too hot to remain under the open sky, – she commanded quietly, and the nursemaid along with a pair of servants promptly gathered the little ones. Aleyna gave a disgruntled squeak, unwilling to leave the garden, but broke off under her mother’s strict gaze.
The garden emptied in an instant, leaving the spouses alone with the scent of blooming flowers and a heavy silence.
– A letter from Queen Naerys, – he said hollowly, extending the parchment to her.
Celyse accepted the letter and began to read. Robert watched as her gaze swept across the lines. When she reached the words concerning the "fruits of service" and the "Mother’s mercy," she did not cry out or protest. She merely tightened her grip on the edges of the parchment for a fraction of a second, and Robert saw her lips press together into a thin, barely noticeable line.
Celyse slowly folded the letter, smoothing the creases.
– "The heavy skies of the capital," – she repeated softly. – Poor girl. The Queen expressed herself quite... definitively, my lord husband. Your sister returns with a royal bastard in her womb.
– Brienne is my sister, – Robert took a step toward her, feeling a dull, defensive obstinacy rise within him. – And this house will always be her home. I insisted upon her departure myself. I share in this blame.
– You did what a lord must do for his sister, – she touched his hand, and Robert felt the tension begin to ebb away slightly. Then her tone grew sharper. – Brienne is a Redwyne, and this house will always be her home. But the "fruits" of which the Queen speaks... – Celyse paused, choosing the gentlest words for the harshest truth. – If there is a new life in her womb, my husband, it is a life that knows no law... Do you understand what this means for us? We cannot simply... allow rumors to wander about our house.
– Brienne is a Redwyne, – Robert repeated. – And this house will always be her home. And for her child as well, – a note of stubbornness, which Celyse knew all too well, hardened his voice.
Celyse slowly removed her hand from his shoulder. The gesture was gentle, yet the distance between them widened instantly.
– We shall hide her, Celyse. No one will learn the truth. We shall say she is ill...
– Lies are a wine that turns to vinegar with time, my lord, – Celyse called him by his title for the first time in all their years of marriage, and it stung more deeply than if she had struck him. –You cannot forever hide a child with the traits of Old Valyria. The servants will whisper. The smallfolk will whisper. The rumors will creep among the other houses. What will you tell the lords of the Reach when a child with silver hair and Valyrian eyes runs through our garden? That it comes from the sea air of the Arbor?
– The Queen has granted her her protection, Celyse! – Robert’s voice rose, laced with the despair of his own helplessness before the situation. – The letter states that Her Grace will deem any word against Brienne’s honor a personal affront.
– The protection of Queen Naerys? – Celyse looked at him as though he were a fool. – Robert, you are a clever man, but right now you are blind. Naerys is a holy woman, and your sister rightly admired her, but the Queen is powerless. Her word in the capital is not worth a copper groat. A scrap of paper from the Queen will not kill the whispers behind our backs. If Aegon has grown weary of Brienne’s maiden purity, no amount of intercession from Naerys will save us from the stain.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her breathing uneven. Robert saw how difficult this was for her, how this conversation was shattering their familiar domestic comfort, yet Celyse would not yield.
– You men see only your wounded pride, – she said, a hidden ache in her voice. – You see a wretched sister who must be sheltered from the storm. But I see a threat to our daughter! When the time comes to seek a match for Aleyna, the lords of the Reach will not ask how obedient and clever she is. They will remember her aunt. They will remember the “fruits of service” to King Aegon. Do you want the shadow of a bastard to fall upon our daughter? For her to be looked upon as a girl from a tainted house?
Robert clenched his teeth. Celyse’s logic was flawless, and that was precisely what made her words so unendurable. He loved Aleyna to distraction. He loved Celyse. But the thought of abandoning Brienne felt like a betrayal.
– Brienne stays here, – he said quietly, yet with a leaden weight, looking his wife square in the eyes. – Redwynes do not cast their own to the wolves. I will not alter my decision, Celyse. Not even for the sake of the reputation you value so highly.
For a moment, a silence so suffocating fell over the garden that the buzzing of bees by the distant bushes seemed loud. Celyse gazed at him with a long, wounded look. Robert saw the conflict in her eyes – the hurt, the anger, and the deep disappointment that her husband had, for the first time, ignored her fears.
Their perfect, love-filled world had suffered its first serious fracture.
– Very well, – she said at last. Her voice was astonishingly quiet, but within that quietness, Robert felt the chill of a glacier. – You are the head of the house, my lord. The rule of the Arbor belongs to you, and the final word is ever yours. I shall receive Lady Brienne. I shall ensure she wants for nothing, and I will see to the servants myself, so their tongues do not wag ahead of time.
She paused, her grey eyes glinting suspiciously.
– But do not expect me to smile at this news over supper. And do not expect me to share this burden with you. You chose to let this fire into our home – so it is you who must watch to ensure it does not burn away our children's future.
Celyse offered a restrained, flawless curtsey, cold as ice, and without waiting for a reply, turned and walked away down the path toward the castle with measured, deliberately calm steps, leaving Robert utterly alone.
It was the first time in all their years of marriage that they had parted without reaching an accord, and with a heavy heart, Robert accepted this challenge of fate.
He knew Celyse was right in her fears, but turn his back on his sister he could not.