Post by The Seven on Jun 11, 2008 15:16:17 GMT -5
Death Becomes Grimm
February, 1490
Alysanne Tyrell stared with trepidation at the man she was marrying, his scarred face smiling with a lewd expression as he looked down her dress. Ser Aaron Grimm had been betrothed to her at birth by her father, an action that she had never quite forgiven him for. His father had saved his life apparently, in some dusty corner of the world called Slaver's Bay, where the old ways of Ghis still head power. His son had grown up big and ugly, in body and spirit, but the betrothal held, her father unwilling to break a contract he had arranged as a life debt.
She herself was small even for fourteen, four inches below five feet. Her breasts were yet so tiny she could still pass as a boy if her face could be hidden. Men told her she was beautiful, but she felt a child, and still thought she looked like one. Since her brother had left for King's Landing to represent the Mander two years past, she had oft felt alone in her room in Highgarden's keep, where her father managed the affairs of the castle. Her only real friend remaining in Highgarden was staring at her groom with barely disguised hatred.
Domeric Tyrell was her favorite cousin, the son of her uncle Lord Mason Tyrell. He was sixteen, new to manhood and engaged to Alysanne's best friend Belle Oakheart, who had been off in Lannisport for three years. She had come back for the wedding, but when she had seen Ser Aaron her face had fallen. So much for playing with each others' children like we had talked about when we were girls, she thought.
The vows were exchanged, the words tearing a hole in her throat as they came out, and Grimm's cloak was thrown over her shoulders. He winked at Domeric as he walked her down the aisle. She could see the madness in his eyes. People had some Ser Aaron had never been quite right after getting hit with a mace four years earlier in a training fight against Lord Robert Chester's brother Ser Addam. He was prone to fits of violent rage, though it was whispered he had once been a sweet and mild mannered young man. She did not see that man now.
An hour later, in the great hall of Highgarden, she saw the lords of the Mander assembled, dozens of them, along with a smattering of Far Reach lords and Stormlanders. Even the Crakehalls had sent their heir to watch. A fine lot, all told, though she knew her cousin's marriage in July would attract representatives from the whole kingdom.
Ser Aaron was drunk less than an hour in, telling all within range his eagerness for the bedding ceremony. He repeatedly stuck his face in hers and forced her to kiss him, always turning at the last second to make her kiss his scarred cheek. She was disgusted, but her father had told her how ladies must act, and she had always been dutiful. Finally even decorum couldn't be maintained, and she heard her Aunt Ophelia, slightly crazy herself after the death of her younger five children in a boating accident on the Mander, say something to her new husband.
Ser Aaron had obviously not liked what she said, for he threw his wine glass directly at the lady of the castle and grabbed a sword. Gasps rang out from the guests at the audacity. Alysanne grabbed his arm to calm him, but his hand lashed out and struck her full on the cheek. She staggered backwards and fell.
"Lay down your sword!" A loud voice rang out. She looked to see her cousin with his greatsword in hand, the blade nearly as tall as he. His voice was deeper than a man of sixteen years's had any right to be, and the fire in his eyes promised he would not be a soft lord when his father died. Ser Aaron looked at him, and something in him changed.
"If I don't, what are you going to do, kill me? I believe I have guest right, cousin." He said this last word with a sneer. Domeric remained silent, his iron gaze boring into the bigger man. Domeric Tyrell had had the iron gaze since his fifth name day, when a nine year old had stolen his puppy. He had narrowed his eyes and glared for so long the older boy started crying.
For a second, even Aaron was put off by the gaze, but then a strange look settled over his face, and he turned towards his new bride and smiled. "You'll pay for this tonight," he promised. His sword remained in hand.
Ser Carl Tyrell, her uncle known as the Great Thorn, walked to Aaron. "Put it away, lad, bearing steel to your liege lord is death." Ser Grimm laughed.
Domeric walked closer, until only the table separated him from Grimm. "Put down your sword, or it comes to blood." His voice was near a whisper. Alysanne screamed suddenly as she saw her husband's left hand grab a dagger, and then a sword like a bursting wineskin came, and her husband fell lifeless to the ground, four feet of steel sticking out of his stomach.
* * *
July, 1499
Her cousin had returned at last, from battle in Dorne and imprisonment in the Iron Islands. Alysanne ran to his bedroom to see him, her favorite person i nthe world. He gave her a hug and sat down. "Cousin, you look well." She grinned.
"I hear you forked yourself a scorpion." Domeric looked at her a little sadly.
"I'd rather have my tree. I don't quite know what to make of this one yet, Al." He used his old name for her. She frowned a little.
"I loved Belle too, Dom, but you DO need an heir. Even I know that, sheltered as I am here."
"That might change, cousin. I have written a letter to Ser Zavior Caron asking him to come see whether he meets your standards. He's strong and able, and we need the alliance with the Stormlands more than ever with resentment still smoldering in Dorne." Alysanne grinned.
"He'll have to survive the story you know."
Dom grinned. "Maybe he will, but if not cousin, we'll need to find you someone else. I think Lord Drumm of the Islands has a son who needs a bride." Alysanne shoved him.
"I would hang myself before I ever moved there. Be glad I know you aren't serious."
Domeric looked sad. "I'm sorry for everything, Aly. I should have given you to Derek a long time ago."
She hugged him. "I love you cuz." He said nothing. After a while she went to her room and thought about Ser Caron. He can't be as bad as Aaron, she thought, and I know Dom needs allies. Time to be a good cousin and not mention the wedding. I'll tell the old woman story. She fell asleep.
February, 1490
Alysanne Tyrell stared with trepidation at the man she was marrying, his scarred face smiling with a lewd expression as he looked down her dress. Ser Aaron Grimm had been betrothed to her at birth by her father, an action that she had never quite forgiven him for. His father had saved his life apparently, in some dusty corner of the world called Slaver's Bay, where the old ways of Ghis still head power. His son had grown up big and ugly, in body and spirit, but the betrothal held, her father unwilling to break a contract he had arranged as a life debt.
She herself was small even for fourteen, four inches below five feet. Her breasts were yet so tiny she could still pass as a boy if her face could be hidden. Men told her she was beautiful, but she felt a child, and still thought she looked like one. Since her brother had left for King's Landing to represent the Mander two years past, she had oft felt alone in her room in Highgarden's keep, where her father managed the affairs of the castle. Her only real friend remaining in Highgarden was staring at her groom with barely disguised hatred.
Domeric Tyrell was her favorite cousin, the son of her uncle Lord Mason Tyrell. He was sixteen, new to manhood and engaged to Alysanne's best friend Belle Oakheart, who had been off in Lannisport for three years. She had come back for the wedding, but when she had seen Ser Aaron her face had fallen. So much for playing with each others' children like we had talked about when we were girls, she thought.
The vows were exchanged, the words tearing a hole in her throat as they came out, and Grimm's cloak was thrown over her shoulders. He winked at Domeric as he walked her down the aisle. She could see the madness in his eyes. People had some Ser Aaron had never been quite right after getting hit with a mace four years earlier in a training fight against Lord Robert Chester's brother Ser Addam. He was prone to fits of violent rage, though it was whispered he had once been a sweet and mild mannered young man. She did not see that man now.
An hour later, in the great hall of Highgarden, she saw the lords of the Mander assembled, dozens of them, along with a smattering of Far Reach lords and Stormlanders. Even the Crakehalls had sent their heir to watch. A fine lot, all told, though she knew her cousin's marriage in July would attract representatives from the whole kingdom.
Ser Aaron was drunk less than an hour in, telling all within range his eagerness for the bedding ceremony. He repeatedly stuck his face in hers and forced her to kiss him, always turning at the last second to make her kiss his scarred cheek. She was disgusted, but her father had told her how ladies must act, and she had always been dutiful. Finally even decorum couldn't be maintained, and she heard her Aunt Ophelia, slightly crazy herself after the death of her younger five children in a boating accident on the Mander, say something to her new husband.
Ser Aaron had obviously not liked what she said, for he threw his wine glass directly at the lady of the castle and grabbed a sword. Gasps rang out from the guests at the audacity. Alysanne grabbed his arm to calm him, but his hand lashed out and struck her full on the cheek. She staggered backwards and fell.
"Lay down your sword!" A loud voice rang out. She looked to see her cousin with his greatsword in hand, the blade nearly as tall as he. His voice was deeper than a man of sixteen years's had any right to be, and the fire in his eyes promised he would not be a soft lord when his father died. Ser Aaron looked at him, and something in him changed.
"If I don't, what are you going to do, kill me? I believe I have guest right, cousin." He said this last word with a sneer. Domeric remained silent, his iron gaze boring into the bigger man. Domeric Tyrell had had the iron gaze since his fifth name day, when a nine year old had stolen his puppy. He had narrowed his eyes and glared for so long the older boy started crying.
For a second, even Aaron was put off by the gaze, but then a strange look settled over his face, and he turned towards his new bride and smiled. "You'll pay for this tonight," he promised. His sword remained in hand.
Ser Carl Tyrell, her uncle known as the Great Thorn, walked to Aaron. "Put it away, lad, bearing steel to your liege lord is death." Ser Grimm laughed.
Domeric walked closer, until only the table separated him from Grimm. "Put down your sword, or it comes to blood." His voice was near a whisper. Alysanne screamed suddenly as she saw her husband's left hand grab a dagger, and then a sword like a bursting wineskin came, and her husband fell lifeless to the ground, four feet of steel sticking out of his stomach.
* * *
July, 1499
Her cousin had returned at last, from battle in Dorne and imprisonment in the Iron Islands. Alysanne ran to his bedroom to see him, her favorite person i nthe world. He gave her a hug and sat down. "Cousin, you look well." She grinned.
"I hear you forked yourself a scorpion." Domeric looked at her a little sadly.
"I'd rather have my tree. I don't quite know what to make of this one yet, Al." He used his old name for her. She frowned a little.
"I loved Belle too, Dom, but you DO need an heir. Even I know that, sheltered as I am here."
"That might change, cousin. I have written a letter to Ser Zavior Caron asking him to come see whether he meets your standards. He's strong and able, and we need the alliance with the Stormlands more than ever with resentment still smoldering in Dorne." Alysanne grinned.
"He'll have to survive the story you know."
Dom grinned. "Maybe he will, but if not cousin, we'll need to find you someone else. I think Lord Drumm of the Islands has a son who needs a bride." Alysanne shoved him.
"I would hang myself before I ever moved there. Be glad I know you aren't serious."
Domeric looked sad. "I'm sorry for everything, Aly. I should have given you to Derek a long time ago."
She hugged him. "I love you cuz." He said nothing. After a while she went to her room and thought about Ser Caron. He can't be as bad as Aaron, she thought, and I know Dom needs allies. Time to be a good cousin and not mention the wedding. I'll tell the old woman story. She fell asleep.