personal6

She is seated in a well-worn rocking chair, gently swaying to and fro, in a softly lit room. She is burrowed up against Baelon; with their arms around each other, they are in a warm embrace.

Her head is on his shoulder, as they whisper quietly to each other, even sharing soft laughter. The gentle, regular creaking of the rocking chair adds to the calm atmosphere of the scene, so perfect and tender.

"This chair is nice, whence did you come about the design?" She whispers.

Baelon softly plays with her hair. "I made it as a gift for father, it helps with aching bones." He says. "Then I fashioned myself one."

They were in his room, deep in the royal apartments of Maegor's Holdfast. It was quaint, all things considered, filled with books, scrolls, and strange paintings from across the world, there were preserved heads of wolves and bears, spoils of many hunts, no doubt. Yet the lack of any obvious luxury was apparent, no gold studded statues, the bed –despite its size- was comfortable yet humble.

It was tasteful to say the least, and it made you feel that every part of it was chosen for a reason, a sense of value that stemmed entirely from emotion, not simple price.

A new addition to his collection –and what Cassandra would wager was the most expensive- was a giant painting held up against the wall, it captured the mysterious and mystically breathtaking sight of the Wall.

The Wall stretched across the canvas, a colossal barrier of ice towering high into the sky. It glistened under the cold, pale light of a winter sun, its icy surface shimmering with hues of blue and white. The landscape below was a desolate affair compared to this, a frozen wasteland dotted with snow-covered trees and jagged rocks.

Small figures of the Night's Watch patrolled along its base, their black robes in stark contrast to the snowy scene. Rising above them, the Wall was all but surreal, a magic long ago worked upon times long past, and an eternal struggle against the darkness that lurked beyond. The picture showed great attention to detail, portraying the harsh beauty of a wonder of ages past.

Noticing the target of her gaze, Baelon explained. "I spent, I don't know how many gold dragons, convincing a certain Braavosi artist to visit the Wall and paint it." He chuckled. "The man hawed and cawed throughout the conversation, he was hesitant to leave his luxurious apartments for the cold, dreary far north, you see. But with enough gold, he reconsidered."

He let out an amused huff. "When the man came back he paid me back every single coin, the first thing he did was hug and thank me for the opportunity. 'You have shown me that immeasurable beauty can lie in the unlikeliest parts of the word' he said, and now he is on a journey, to visit all of Lomas Longstrider's wonders, and paint their beauty for all to see." He explains. "Four pieces were borne from his visit, one was sold to the Starks, one sent to the Sealord as a gift, one sold at an auction at the equivalent price of 20 000 gold dragons, and the best, right there before me."

"20 000 gold dragons." She mumbled, the amount of things one could buy with such gold was astonishing. "I wager it'll look majestic adorned in your walls."

But Baelon shakes his head, playfully caressing her cheek. "No, I commissioned the piece to give to someone else." He says. "Aemond has been mystified by the wall, and what lies beyond. Grandmaester Mellos is wroth with the boy, what with the amount of ancient books he'd been borrowing from him. I thought this may bring him joy, considering his recent misfortune."

She inwardly winced. Yes, the news of Aemond's injury has spread all across the realm, with many believing it to escalate into something worse. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed, the Hand of the King, the Seasnake, the King, and Baelon having smoothed many things over behind the scenes.

Yet, it was heartening how much Baelon cared for his family, it is a good omen for her future, she thought.

Before they could continue, they heard a knock at the door.

"Who'd be knocking this late?" It wasn't long after sunset, but still.

"It's Prince Daeron, your Grace!" Echoed the Guardian's voice.

"Let him in!" Baelon responded.

The little Daeron excitedly enters the room, carrying a small book by his side. "Brother! I've read the book you said to and I came to-"He promptly went silent from shock at the sight of them, upon which he went beet red and stammered out a response. "I-I a-am sorry for interrupting-"

Cassandra makes sure to smile softly to the boy, assuaging his worries. "Nonsense! We were just speaking, come, come!" She mentioned whilst Baelon just laughed. "We're ears free to listen!"

After a while, Daeron hesitantly takes a seat in front of them, then takes a deep breath. "I have read the book you told me to, brother." His squeaky voice trying to sound older was so cute. "And I have questions."

"And?" Baelon softly questions.

"Well, the book is about the andal invasions and how they managed to convert most of Westeros to the Faith of the Seven. I do not understand, however, why they stopped?" He says. "Theon the Hungry Wolf's invasion of Andalos may have scared them off, but why didn't they simply try again when he died?" He asks.

"Ah." Baelon realizes. "Well, to understand this, you have to remember. What did I tell you all wars needed in order to function?"

"A cause?" Daeron dutifully responds.

Baelon nods his head, whilst Cassandra is fondly watching. "Good, now most, if not all, wars, have a public reason and a private one for any wars they commit. They may tell everyone else that they're instigating conflict to correct some injustice, or to strike down some evil person, but more often than not, there is always a real, more selfish, reason for most wars." He explains. "Sometimes their leaders may be truthful in their claims, but it is not only leaders and generals that lead wars, but soldiers, merchants, sellswords and such are all part of any war, and they each have their own reasons for participating."

"Like Aegon the Conqueror!" Daeron exclaims.

Cassandra couldn't agree with the young boy, it is known that the Conqueror waged war only to create his empire, he didn't need an excuse as -after all- he had dragons. But she stayed silent to not ruin the moment.

"Yes, like Aegon the first." Baelon seemed like he didn't wish to correct him either. "So, I know the book cites that Andal invasions were caused by religious interest, a holy war of sort to 'bring the barbarians on the other side to the rightful faith!' right?" At Daeron's nod, he continues. "In truth, and while the exact time in history is ambiguous, records show that at the time, the Valyrians had begun to have an interest into Andalos, the home of the Andals."

"Considering the Valyrians were not known for their kindness, and that subjugation under their yoke isn't exactly a pleasant experience, the Andals had no choice but to leave." Cassandra did not claim to be knowledgeable in terms of history, but even she was surprised by his words, this was news to her, after all. "But where? The Rhoynar were warring with the Valyrians, and losing, the Dothraki sea well… was the Dothraki sea, and the southern cities were already ruled by the Valyrians."

"They chose to go to Westeros…" Daeron answered.

"Exactly, whilst the Valyrian Freehold held influence all over the world, Westeros was distant, and the dragon lords distanced themselves from them for some reason. So the Andal tribes decided to migrate there, using the excuse of holy subjugation, they have slowly but surely managed to convert the southern kingdoms of Westeros to their faith, through either diplomacy or war, and were only left with the North." He elaborates. "At the time the wars of conquest were spearheaded by the house of Sevenstar, who claimed descent from Hugor of the Hill, who still lived in Andalos, and held immense influence on Westeros through their claim."

"The Kingdoms, though converted, still had their own issues and desires, some like the Gadeners of the reach only converted to cease the invasions, and only reluctantly participated in the following holy wars, while others, like the Durrandons and the Martells, had close rivals and neighboring enemies that caused them to be equally cautious to send off men to other places. Yet to not participate in the wars of Conquest in the name of the seven would be considered blasphemy, and cost them their heads, so when Argos Sevenstar called, they sent their men and ships."

"The north at the time was the most defensible kingdom in the world, the kingdom beyond the neck knew unprecedented unity, as Theon Stark had the help and the loyalty of the Boltons who would usually sabotage his efforts, and Moat Cailin wasn't the ruin that it was today, so the invading army, as any would against a well defended and garrisoned, broke against the walls of the fortress after a grueling march in the Neck against repeated attacks from the crannogmen, who knew the terrain like the backs of their neck."

"Then Theon Stark led a fleet to Andalos and wiped their people!" Daeron interjects.

"Yes, your question was why that worked? Well, I believe Theon Stark knew that the other kingdoms were the ones who actually gave the Andals the men, ships and swords necessary to be able to raise so many armies against his kingdom, he also knew that the only reason those kingdoms did so was because of pressure from the people who lived in Andalos, who desired lands of their own and still felt the encroaching noose of the Valyrians close to their necks." Baelon said. "So when he killed those people, the other kingdoms used the excuse of 'the big, scary, Hungry Wolf' to appease the faith and ceased the invasions. And that was the end of that."

'It was certainly a more… pragmatic view.' Cassandra mused. 'And it sounds logical the more I think about it, but what do I care?'

Daeron seemed to think on it for a while, he was a very intelligent boy, Cassandra thought, so she had no doubt that he'd understand at least the general gist of Baelon's words.

Baelon idly ruffled his littlest brother's hair. "It must be getting late now, why don't you go back to your quarters and think on it?"

Daeron nods while standing up. "I will endeavor to do so." He attempted to seem stoic, probably repeating something he heard from his grandfather, but it just made him seem adorable.

She watched the boy prince leave with a smile on her face.

"You treat your brothers and nephews well, Bael." She says. "You'd make a great father."

She feels him stiffening at the mention of fatherhood, and couldn't help but sigh.

Her betrothed had spoken on his issues with the notion, not with having children, but with the idea of child birth. He often spoke to her –secretly, of course- about how he was worried about the dangers of having children. Cassandra thought it to have something to do with his own mother's death, having sadly left this world while giving birth to him.

She softly held his hand. "Do not worry, Baelon. We spoke on this, haven't we?" Her face approached his. "It is why we decided to only have the wedding once I reach eight and ten." Their lips meet, once they separate, she continues. "In addition, I can always drink moon tea."

Baelon abruptly lifts her, causing her to exclaim. "No, moon tea has its own demerits." He throws her on his bed. "There are other ways to have fun."

She giggles.

Fun indeed.

--*

She woke up to the gentle nudges of a maidservant, one she recognized.

"Thank you, Judy."

The woman nods with a smile. "No worries, my Lady." She bows, promptly helping her with her morning routine.

Baelon was already awake and… working, he idly wrote on one of his account books while he drank from a chilled water cup.

"Good morning, love." He says. "Do not break your fast yet, we are to meet with one Desmond Manderly, he came with this shipment from the North. It would be good for me to introduce you to him."

Cassandra nods seriously. "Anything of note?"

"The man hates his grandsire, Theomore, with a passion. Yet he didn't hesitate to cite his betrothal to my grand-aunt Viserra to negotiate a better trade deal for the north." He says. "A shrewd negotiator, that man, yet he is a great asset once you hold his loyalty."

"And do you?" She asks. "Hold his loyalty, that is."

Baelon puts his quill down and lays back with a hum, in thought. "Indirectly, the Manderly's would follow the Starks to their dying breath; that is how much they value their new chance. But the Starks would hold to their northern honor over anything else, and would look at my favors with high esteem, so yes. As I hold the Stark's loyalty so do I the Manderly's in return." He says. "Yet the indirect nature means that we have to be cautious in the small details, Desmond would look to his house's and his kingdom's interests first."

Northern honor was a strange concept, with the absence of the seven, it usually amounted to 'Repay kindness with kindness, and cruelty with yet even greater cruelty'. It wasn't as much chivalry or honor as it was simply fairness.

Which is somewhat refreshing, were she to admit. Nothing like the Reach and their pompous traditions.

--*

They were led to a dining chamber by Ser Rodrick, who somehow managed to sleep later than them both yet wake up earlier, she asked Baelon once about how the man does it and he said that he takes frequent naps during the day, which was disappointing, she was expecting some sort of magical concoction that replaced the need for sleep.

They were greeted by a jovial man wearing luxurious green and sea-blue garments; he was tall, yet slightly shorter than Baelon, with brown hair and blue eyes that gleamed with intelligence.

Cassandra had the impression that he would have a sinister face, were it not for his crow's feet, which gave him a kind face.

"Desmond!" Baelon exclaims, wordlessly mentioning him to sit back down. "It is good to see you, how do you find Kingslanding?"

Cassandra nods in greeting also, as she also sat down.

"Different, or better, should I say." The Manderly's voice was soft, yet manly. "It feels like it's alive in here, what with the constant workers and renovators. At least the smell is gone."

Cassandra laughs. "Thank the gods! When I knew that I'd be married to this troublemaker." She points at Baelon. "I'd despaired to living with that scent, let alone getting used to it!"

Baelon told her that northern men enjoy honest jokes, and usually don't have any knacks about politeness or noble manners, so she made sure to shed the façade of the demure lady.

Desmond's eyes almost imperceptibly widen, before his smile visibly turned genuine. He turns toward Baelon. "I see the Baratheon's reputation for feistiness isn't unwarranted, you've picked a good one, I say."

Baelon chuckles. "If you knew anything about Baratheon feistiness, then you'd have known that she'd picked me."

They laughed at his joke for a moment, letting the silence stew for a moment.

"So tell me, Desmond, how goes the north?" Baelon asks.

"Very well, all things considered." He responds, extending a cup to a maidservant and thanking her for filling it. "The ice trade allowed us to pay for prospectors and mining experts, as you well know. We have used the blast furnaces you'd provided and installed them all across the white knife, the mountain clans would mine the iron, ship to turn into steel, and then our ships will bring it to you, to be molded into weapons, armors, and such." He explains. "The Starks seem to be blessed by their old gods; they have grown much, using timber, furs, and strangely enough, silver and coal that they have found in the mountains amidst the low mountains in their great forests. Now every noble house from the Neck to the Wall is spending gold and silver on their own lands, trying to find untapped resources, with many finding quite some."

"I always thought it strange that the North never had any significant goods to trade with the other kingdoms." Cassandra says. "Yet it seems it was only us southern nuisances had prevented your rise. The Reacher and Riverlander houses always extorted your people through the price of grain, taking advantage of your suffering during winter. The Stormlands may not suffer as much, yet we can relate, given our frequent storms and hurricanes, we see no lack of hardships, so it gladdens my heart to see you thrive so, my Lord, it makes one believe that our land too, could see such success."

"My people shall rejoice, knowing that their future queen shares their concerns." Desmond responds, a sudden frown marring his face. "Yet not all is well, my prince. Even in such fortune, evil men find ways to make our lives miserable." He says.

"I presume you speak of Bennard Stark." Baelon interjects.

Desmond was slightly shocked, yet it swiftly washes out. "It seems none shall escape your eyes, my Prince. Indeed, they say that the regent lord of the north has gotten fat out of its new fortune, and using his Karstark connection, he is ambling for a better position to usurp his own nephew." He explains. "Yet it is known, that Lord Cregan holds your favor, your grace, so many lords are publicly denouncing his actions. Chief of them is Lord Roderick Dustin, in fact, was it not for the Ruin, then some mysteriously well-equipped bandits may have been able to murder the young heir on his way to Barrowtown."

Cassandra didn't know much of the north, so she decides to simply stay silent.

"Cregan is the indisputable heir to Winterfell, whatever ambitions Bennard has, he should cease." Baelon speaks. "I know how you northmen are, so I will not directly interfere, but I want you to send word of my wishes, that should stem the tide, at least until Cregan comes of age and cleans his own house."

Desmond nods. "I shall do that, the young Cregan already shows promise in the yard, and has bloodied himself during the bandit attack. As long as he keeps the hidden blades at bay, he will surely prevail."

At his words, Cassandra smiles, and mentions for the maidservants to bring in the food. "Let us end the serious talk, I am famished." She says. "Have you eaten the venison here? I do not know what is different in the Kingswood, yet their deers have meat so tender it'll make you doubt your mouth."

They bring in the food in delicate looking glass colored plates. The smell is great to Cassandra's noise, and considering she didn't eat since the last day, she eagerly grabbed her utensils.

"The food smells sweet." Baelon says, a frown on his face.

Desmond makes for the food, yet is abruptly stopped by Baelon, who wordlessly grabs his own plate and roughly spills its contents to the ground.

"Is something the matter?!" Manderly asks, with Cassandra matching his expression.

Baelon still doesn't answer; he grabs a flagon of water and pours its contents onto the plate.

The food included wine reduction, which was red colored. Yet when the water was spilled, an additional color was introduced, a deep dark color.

"The food was safe, it was the plate itself." Baelon nose twitches as he audibly smells. "It is definitely deadly nightshade, or Belladonna."

"Someone just tried to poison us."