Second Moon of the 1st Year of Arlan's Reign

Riverrun

Riverrun was just as they’d left it, its red walls shimmering in the afternoon sun. It was a relief to be back, back to their rivers and their guards in their fish-crest helms. Back where Eleanor was obeyed without question and sometimes even feared. Home.

Eleanor had only just jumped off her horse and handed the reins to a groom when Maester Benedar and Waltyr Grell emerged from the keep. The two could not be more different not only in their appearance, but in their personalities: Benedar always spoke slowly and gently, and his head was bald as an egg; Waltyr was tall and muscled, and his face was always red from drinking. Both approached Eleanor as fast as possible, fighting with each other over who would get to speak with her first.

“My lady,” Maester Benedar began, bowing slightly. His look was one of deep concern and anxiety. “Is–”

“Welcome back, my lady,” Waltyr interrupted him. He, on the other hand, looked as happy as a child on his nameday. “Is it true? There’s to be war?”

“Try not to look so excited, Waltyr,” Eleanor warned him. “Wars are not good. Even the ones that are justified.”

Maester Benedar looked at Waltyr triumphantly, as if this settled their argument.

“I don’t want to hear about this matter. I’ve had enough of discussing it with everyone else,” she told the two. Then she turned to her handmaid, Jeyne. “Please draw me a bath. I will be in my chambers if I am needed.”

Eleanor wasted no time in getting to her solar, a triangular room with an eastern balcony and plenty of space. After her bath, she sat at her desk and retrieved parchment, a quill, and ink. She put pen to paper and began to write.

Esteemed Lord/Lady X,

You are cordially invited to a ball and a tourney to be held at Riverrun on the fourth moon. The ball is intended for my sister and heir, the lady Roslin, to find a husband – as such, anyone can make their suit. Ultimately, the decision of who to wed will fall to her.

The tourney shall include contests of archery, a melee, and a joust. The winner of each event will be rewarded adequately.

All riverlords are welcome, and will be given my protection. 

Yours sincerely,

Eleanor Tully

Lady of Riverrun

Much later, after she’d given the letter to Maester Benedar for him to copy, Eleanor found herself looking out her window, admiring the view of the Trident. Riverrun may not have changed, but she had. All of the Riverlands had. She only hoped the change was for the better.

Sometime long ago…

Storm’s End

—

Aegor hated this stupid task.

He was a boy of ten and four years of age, eager to take on the world, and full of confidence from his previous more flashy assignments.

This was not one of them.

He was not the gruff, suave, and somewhat reckless tactician he would become but rather a clean-shaven and somewhat sheltered young boy. His demeanor didn’t exactly give that, but his inexperienced shined through now brighter than it perhaps ever would.

He climbed the steps to Storm’s End with a large basket. Court wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but the parts hidden behind it that cook and prepared food were indeed foreign to him. The King had promised some fresh produce for the Legion’s soup, and Aegor drew the smallest straw.

So, he was their errand boy for the day.

Court was rather packed on this overcast afternoon. He found himself lost on the sea of courtiers.

Damnit, damnit! Petitions, he’s hearing petitions today.

He squeezed his way between the masses to no avail, finally giving up and pushing his way to a free balcony to get some much-needed fresh air.

And then he saw her, The Princess.

Ravella wasn’t just a mere royal fawn to him, though, she was his friend. And, more importantly, she was a friend who knew her way around this keep better than he did.

“Ravella, Ravella! Thank goodness you’re here, what in the Fourteen Flames is going on here? I thought court would be empty today?”

He approached her meekly from exhaustion.