Chapter Text
Stone Hedge was unlike any other town in the Riverlands. Great stone towers stood like arthritic fingers across the skyline. Squat, narrow houses sat at their base—a maze of narrow alleys and circular markets just bursting with life. Legend has it that an angry giant had dug the towers into the earth a millennia ago. And when the sun bracketed them, the sky muted like a spilled ink pot, drenching the markets in shadow.
Aeron Bracken had lived in one of those towers his entire life. His window faced the sedge-covered riverlands to the north, where the glint of the Red Fork was just noticeable in the distance. It was a small room, simply furnished, but it kept him out of the barracks where most of the other knights were boarded. He was glad for the small mercies his last name afforded him.
Aeron tied his shoulder-length hair back in his normal fashion and hurried down the circular stone steps to the great hall. His aunt had a thing for lateness and he’d rather not get on her bad side today. He smirked as he jumped the last few steps and rounded the corner, air rustling the tapestries as he passed.
Even the greatest of knights were scared of Lady Bracken.
Besides, Lord Amos had said he would make an announcement at dinner. Aeron fervently hoped it would be about the upcoming tourney in Kings Landing.
A second son of a second son, Aeron had fought hard to earn his knighthood. He’d dreamed of fighting side-by-side with his fellow Rivermen, either with Lord Tully against some imagined foe or against their nemesis, House Blackwood. But to get there, he’d have to prove himself. And he could do that by winning one of the three main events in Kings Landing: the joust, the melee, or archery.
He was pretty rusty with a bow but could hold his own on a horse, so it was the joust that he had set his sights on.
When he crossed into the busy hall, he found his younger sister, Morgan, and slid into the empty seat nearest her just seconds before the first course was served. Lord Amos Bracken sat at the head of the table. To his right lounged his son, Benfray, and to his right sat Lady Bracken, who gave Aeron a sharp look that he returned sheepishly.
So much for not getting on her bad side.
“You were laaate,” Morgan sang.
“Not late, just cutting it close,” he shrugged.
“She considers that to be the same thing, you know.”
Aeron flicked his eyes toward his aunt. Her lips were pressed in a firm line.
“Yeah, suppose you’re right.”
Lord Amos Bracken cleared his throat. “As you all know, I have been trying to strengthen our alliances with houses outside the Riverlands. We must prepare for the next time the Blackwoods decide to raid our borders. So," he scanned the table until he locked eyes with Aeron, "as I do not have a daughter to marry off, I've decided that my nephew, Aeron, will marry the eldest daughter of House Mormont.”
The hall was full and the wine had been flowing freely for some time. At Lord Amos’ announcement, however, the clang of metal utensils on wooden dishes stopped. The chatter died abruptly. A chair scraped across the floor as Aeron stood quickly. His sister’s hand was frozen in place halfway to her mouth, soup cooling on the spoon.
“Uncle,” he said tersely. “I don’t even know the lady . . .”
“She’s a fair lady. Bold in nature, or so I’ve heard. Lord Mormont has, however, requested that you move to Bear Island after the wedding. . . permanently.”
A snicker sounded from the seat beside Lord Bracken. Aeron’s cousin Benfray—the heir to Stone Hedge—looked gleefully at him.
“The North?” Aeron looked perplexedly at his aunt, who stared fixedly at the table in front of her. “But I’ve never been to the North.”
Benfray swirled his wine in circles and then tipped it in Aeron’s direction. “Well, there’s always the Wall, cousin. Should you prefer that to marriage.”
Inside, Aeron seethed. Benfray had never liked him. Aeron had never deduced why, but he’d been dodging his cousin’s beatings since they were children. He was nothing like his Lord father. What Amos possessed, Benfray lacked. Amos was tall and broad-shouldered, while Benfray was perpetually hunched over. He was pale and often sickly, and cruel. Very cruel.
“Yes, I supposed you could take the Black,” Lord Amos said, frowning. “If you’d prefer it, none could stop you. But, it might make for some tensions between us and Lord Mormont if our young knight would rather live a life of celibacy at the Wall than marry his daughter.”
Chuckles rose from the others at the table.
At one time, the Wall had been an honorable venture for a second or third son. Now, the Black Watch was full of conscripted men—criminals and vandals alike. It was no place for a knight of House Bracken. Benfray knew that.
“And what of my Knighthood, my Lord?”
“You’ll always be a knight of House Bracken,” Lord Amos nodded slowly. “You’ll be strengthening our house by providing support should the Tullys decide to look the other way when the Blackwoods come to call.”
Aeron quelled his facial expressions and squared his shoulders. “I will do my duty.”
Lord Bracken pinned him with a gaze. “I know,” he said. He turned to address the hall. “There is to be a wedding feast here in one month’s time!”
Cheers erupted around the table.
Appetite firmly squashed, Aeron placed a hand on the back of his chair for support. “May I retire for the evening, my Lord?”
Lord Amos Bracken waved a hand, dismissing his nephew. But not before Benfray made a face at his retreat.
Bear Island. The North.
As he stomped up the stone steps to his room he tried not to think about what this really was:
Exile.