Chapter 32
INTERLUDE
JENNA DANDARRION
Half a year had passed since that wretched day when the King had lost his son to a Trial of the Seven. Seven men had died that day, yet the realm hardly remembered their names now. It remembered only Maekar and the one they blamed for his death.
Aerion had been the one to call for the Trial of the Seven. He had been the one to murder an innocent girl, yet they forgave him for it. They forgot about him as soon as he reached the Wall and took the vows of the Night's Watch.
But they did not forgive her son. They did not forget Matarys.
He had done nothing wrong. Matarys had fought for justice and goodness yet that became his greatest crime. The King shunned him from his court, and the lords all turned their backs on him for siding with a commoner whore over his own kin.
They felt threatened by his justice, and his honor. They feared the rise of another Matarys in their own lands, from their own kin. They feared the rise of a boy who would stand against their many injustices.
But the Smallfolk were meant to love him. He had fought for them. He had stood against his own family for them, and for a time they had. But their love was fickle, and when the plague came and killed thousands within a few moons, their love vanished rather quickly.
The Spring Sickness, they called it. But there was little of Spring's beauty in it. No. There was only sickness and death. No one knew where the sickness had begun, but now cities across the continents were suffering from it.
It was death given form, and it was not strange for a man to wake up healthy at dawn and then die by the time the Sun had set. They knew nothing about the disease, and the maesters were helpless to contain it.
And even though the Crown was quick to act, the sickness had already made its way to their shores, and after that, it was hard to control. The cities were hit the hardest, and Kingslanding was the worst.
But there was one place that had been spared. A small town that had not even existed some years ago. New Haven, a small settlement started by her son years as he sought to build something of his own.
The people there were spared from the plague, and as the rumors about its safety spread, thousands tried to flee to the lands only to be turned away. New Haven was a small settlement, carefully designed by Matarys.
The place served as a base for his many businesses, including his spirits, lards, soaps, and much more. Matarys had taken in the first thousand, but as thousands more flocked to his settlement, he was forced to close down the gates, and with that, the people were quick to turn their backs on the very person they had once worshipped.
Many chose to blame him for the plague, calling it a divine punishment for his crime of kinslaying, and with that, the entire realm had turned their backs on him, lords and smallfolk alike, even as he worked day and night to save them from the Spring Sickness.
The Spring Sickness had not come alone, and droughts and aridity had come with it. The skies had dried up, and the lakes and streams had followed suit quickly. Crops had failed, and a quarter of the Crown's grain now came from Matarys's granaries.
But it was not just the grain he offered. Matarys had always been an intelligent child, blessed with a Maester's mind. He offered them soaps of his making to bathe and clean themselves, even though the lack of water made that difficult.
But it did not matter. They had decided to put the blame for this on him, and nothing would convince them of the contrary, and she worried for her child, who was forced to bear this burden all by himself.
"Half a year," she complained to her lord husband, whose burdens were far greater than hers.
"Half a year I have spent searching for a suitable match for him, and yet three names is all I have to show for it," and Matarys was a Prince of blood. He was third in line to the Throne, but all that mattered very little when half the realm hated him for something that was not even his fault.
The lords had already turned their backs on him after the Trial, and now even the Smallfolks hated him, making it rather difficult to secure a match for him.
"You must speak to the King," she implored, and perhaps a gesture from him could lessen the blow.
"I am afraid that won't be possible," Baelor countered weakly, as he shook his head.
"He is the King's grandson. I know that Maekar was your brother, but Matarys has suffered enough," and Baelor met her eyes, and his face seemed rather bleak and pained as he refused to answer him.
He was hiding something.
"What happened?" she asked, and she could feel his hesitation.
"I am your wife, Baelor. Your burdens and pains are mine to bear as well," she whispered as she reached for his hand to offer him her support.
"The King," he finally broke, and she felt her heart stop as soon as he heard those words.
"The King has fallen ill," and she gasped at those words, and Daeron the Second was old now, and the Spring Sickness was known to swallow young men whole.
"The Sickness?" she asked, and Baelor was slow to nod.
"The Maesters are not certain yet, but it is the most likely thing," and what could she say to that?
They had just yet begun to recover from the pain of Maekar's loss, and now the King had taken ill. It was as if tragedy had chosen their House.
"But how?" she asked, and the Red Keep had been locked down ever since the threat of the Plague had first risen, and the gates had not been opened since.
Outside the city, the dead were burned in piles in the Dragonpit. Even now, she could see the plumes of dark smoke rising up in the skies, as the dead were turned to ash on the orders of the Master of Whispers, Brynden Rivers.
"No one knows," but this meant that the Red Keep was not safe, either.
"The Maesters are trying their best but...," and he did not need to say anymore.
Daeron's death would make Baelor King, and Kingship was a heavy burden to bear in the usual of times. But amidst a plague and a drought. It was perhaps too great a burden even for the Breakspear himself.
"I am sorry," she whispered, but Baelor simply held her hand as he gazed at the city outside.
"I knew that such a day would come. But I never expected it to come so soon," and no matter how old, a father's death was a great blow to any son, let alone one as filial as Baelor.
"Perhaps we should summon Matarys back," and he shook his head.
"No," he argued against her plan.
"He will be far safer in his settlement than he will be here," and she had no doubt about that.
"But he has been all alone there for half a year," and the plan was to wed him quickly, but all the suitable matches had dried up as the Plague lay rampant around the continent.
"It is time to see him wed," and Baelor nodded, and turned towards the few names that still remained.
"I agree," he said as he picked up the paper.
"Matarys will not agree to any of them," and her son had not made too many demands, but he had been adamant that he would not suffer a fool.
"I know, but with everything going on it has not been easy to find a match for him," she argued, and Baelor put the list down.
"Perhaps I could make a suggestion of my own," and she nodded with a frown.
"I believe I know of a person far more suitable for him than any on your list," and now she was interested.
"Someone who will not only care for him, but also understand his pains. Someone who has suffered the same injustice as our son," and she could think of no one like that.
"Who?" she asked with a frown as Baelor finally offered her a name.
"Lady Gwin Ashford..."
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0000
GWIN ASHFORD
The tourney may have passed, but the whispers and the murmurs followed her long after that. It was to be her nameday celebration, yet it had become a tragedy unlike any other in the span of one day.
Seven men had died. Seven men, including a Prince. There was that mummer as well. Tanselle, whose death had started it all. But her death was no tragedy, and none spoke of how the Trial had begun in the first place. But they all remembered how it had ended.
Kinslaying.
The lords did not take kindly to the death of their own, all for the life of a no name peasant. They were quick to turn their backs on the Prince who would hold them answerable to the King's law, and so it did not take long for the whispers to start.
The young Prince, who was once hailed as a hero, was made into a pariah, and Gwin had found herself getting caught in the crosshairs of this political battle, and by the end of the year, all her suitors had vanished, and her father had found himself troubled by the prospects of her marriage.
Yet still, she did not bear the young Prince any ill will. She was not blind to the machinations of the lords and had written to him a few times expressing her support for what he had done, despite how it had weighed down on her.
She was not spared from the whispers either, and so the two of them had found camaraderie in their shared misery.
That was until she was summoned to the capital by her mother, the Lady Jena. She had been surprised by the summons, but by then her purpose was obvious enough.
And now it was the day of their wedding. It was a strange match, but stranger matches had been made. King Daeron's death had delayed their nuptials by three moons, but even now, with the mourning period over, the wedding was as simple a wedding could be.
The arrangements had been made in Castle Newhaven, and on his deathbed, the King had granted the lands to the Prince as his last edict, and she knew how many a lord and lady at court were feeling rather envious of her fortune.
She stood on the stage with a lowered gaze, as the Prince removed her family's colors from her head and draped her with his own. She turned up and saw him smiling down at her as they joined their hands and turned towards the Septon, who began to tie a knot around them as they spoke their vows.
"......from this day to the end of my days!"
"......from this day to the end of my days!"
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