Chapter 206 Brandon the Wild Wolf
The grand feast was held in the Throne Room of the Red Keep, magnificent, opulent, and paid for entirely by Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen.
However, the nobility of King's Landing knew the extent of the Iron Throne's current wealth. It had not suffered losses in the several wars fought in recent years, and its financial situation was steadily improving. This was because the wars Rhaegar Targaryen participated in, like those of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator, focused on controlling losses and maximizing efficiency, preventing too much blood from being spilled in Westeros. Winning a war while also caring for the soldiers were both difficult tasks, but achieving both simultaneously was even rarer. Wars that spilled less blood were the truest great achievements.
Especially during the recent Battle of Bloodstone, Prince Rhaegar annihilated the great fleet of the Triarchy in one fell swoop, acquiring vast sums of wealth. Coupled with the gifts and gold presented by merchants across the Narrow Sea seeking favor, Prince Rhaegar instantly became one of the wealthiest men on both sides of the Narrow Sea. Furthermore, the peace treaty signed between the Iron Throne and the Triarchy yielded a tremendous amount of compensation. Warfare, as a method of violent plundering and acquiring wealth, was cruel but swift. The people of King's Landing joked that Braavos earned money through the Iron Bank, the Lannisters earned money through gold mines, and Prince Rhaegar earned money through war and intellect. Rhaegar's method of generating enormous profits was more dangerous because it required ensuring victory. War was like fire, like a perilous game.
The Throne Room of King's Landing was brightly illuminated, with every wall sconce blazing. Tonight was destined to be a flowing feast. If one loved King's Landing, then at this moment, the city was undoubtedly at its most dazzling and beautiful. Arriving guests stood behind long tables, while incoming lords, ladies, knights, and famous guests were announced one after another by heralds, proclaiming their names and titles before royal wine stewards escorted them down the broad central aisle. The galleries were filled with musicians: drummers, flutists, fiddlers, as well as players of horns, harps, and bagpipes.
The most conspicuous attendees at tonight's feast were the children of the great houses, who were gradually coming of age and being formally introduced into the center of noble society. Gatherings and partings often stemmed from love and hatred; the friendships and romances of these children would become the cornerstone of long-term stability in Westeros. Of course, they might also become the source of future rivalries. Amidst the sea of jewels, velvet, furs, and gold, they represented the most brilliant storm of youth. Their elders eagerly pushed them onto the stage, a tradition of nobility passed down through generations.
The most magnificent moment was the Dance of the Dragon and the Stag, the entrance of the prince and the maiden. A tall boy with silver hair and violet eyes, and a tall girl with black hair and blue eyes. Roberta's hair was as dark and thick as raven plumes, and her figure was graceful.
The young Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entered arm in arm with Lady Roberta Baratheon, looking spirited and handsome, like a god descended to the mortal world. Rhaegar wore luxurious robes in the colors of House Targaryen—black and red—along with silver representing himself. His short silver hair shone brilliantly. Upon his head rested a steel circlet modeled after Aegon the Conqueror's crown, a black steel band inlaid with large red rubies. His attire was especially eye-catching: against a black background, three red dragons and three silver dragons were embroidered symmetrically, resembling flowing flames. Lady Roberta was equally stunning, dressed in a beautiful gown using the gold and black colors of House Baratheon—primarily black accented with gold—perfectly displaying the maiden's lovely curves and striking beauty. The dress featured exquisite Myrish lace, pearls from the Narrow Sea, and numerous gemstones. The gems and pearls along the skirt formed leaping stags. Roberta was the Queen of Love and Beauty at tonight's celebration.
As soon as the golden pair appeared, cheers erupted endlessly, and the crowd shouted enthusiastically. They were truly perfectly matched, seemingly a union blessed by the gods themselves. Such a passionate moment, with the handsome prince and the beautiful maiden, reminded people of the golden pair from a century earlier: Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Never forget joyful days, never forget youthful days; only tonight was the most beautiful.
Knights loved beautiful women, and ladies adored heroes. The eyes of many young maidens were practically glued to Rhaegar Targaryen—handsome, heroic, noble, wealthy, and powerful; truly an unprecedented Silver Dragon, blessed by fortune and crowned by victory. However, the hope of winning the prince's affection was far too slim. It was already known that Prince Rhaegar's rumored lovers—Lady Roberta of Storm's End and Archon Shiera of Tyrosh—were both women of exceptional beauty and influence. The competition was simply too intense, unless the relationship devolved into mere lust, with Prince Rhaegar becoming debauched like King Aegon the Unworthy.
Rhaegar looked up and saw the golden generation of youth, the heirs of the great houses: the rose, the stag, the lion, the direwolf, and the falcon.
Wearing green velvet, with curly brown hair and brown eyes, tall and broad-shouldered, was Mace Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, impressive in appearance but mediocre and pompous in character. He was older and already married. Mace was accompanied by his wife, Lady Alerie Hightower. Lady Alerie was the second daughter of House Hightower of Oldtown; noble and dignified, also very tall, with long silver hair braided with jeweled rings. The tall, black-haired, blue-eyed youth was Robert Baratheon of Storm's End. The sandy-blond-haired, blue-eyed youth with a gentle smile was Elbert Arryn, the fortunate heir of the Vale. The typical golden curls and emerald-green eyes belonged to the Lannister twins, Jaime and Cersei, who looked remarkably alike. There was also the northern guest, Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf of House Stark. The children of House Tully and House Martell were perhaps the only heirs absent from the gathering. It was said that Catelyn Tully was also a classic Tully beauty, possessing high cheekbones, lively blue eyes, and thick auburn hair, radiating charm. However, Lord Hoster Tully's wife was reportedly in poor health, causing the Tully children to miss the opportunity to attend. The Martell children's circumstances were somewhat unique: the eldest son, Doran, was reserved by nature, while his elder sister Elia was frail and preferred quiet company. The lively Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, was likely studying at the Citadel in Oldtown. As for the krakens of the Iron Islands, they were regarded as crude reavers and generally did not mingle with the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.
Rhaegar noticed those gazes: admiration from the girls, jealousy and envy from the boys. Such was the nature of a crown; it always brought both glory and resentment. Rhaegar occasionally caught Cersei's gaze, filled with greed and dissatisfaction. It was not merely his imagination; the future malice and lust hidden within the beautiful girl already seemed deeply rooted. Before her, the reputation of House Lannister had not been so tainted.
Ser Mace Tyrell was the first to approach and greet Rhaegar and Roberta. He complained that Rhaegar's victory had come too swiftly, leaving him no opportunity to share in the glory. Rhaegar could only comfort poor Mace, promising, "Next time, certainly." There would be many future honors for Ser Mace to win together with him, and only then was Mace satisfied. Fighting alongside an overwhelmingly powerful ally required little more than lying back and waiting for victory. Rhaegar quite appreciated Mace: a loyal subordinate with little intelligence, large in body but simple in mind. Mace was suited to following commands rather than giving them; he was useful for carrying out orders.
Rhaegar glanced toward Lady Alerie, noting her tall figure and silver hair. House Hightower was a mysterious family. This was not only because of their ancient history, but also because they controlled the Citadel and powerful banking interests. They possessed many secrets, and Rhaegar did not know what path their ambitions would ultimately follow.
"He truly is a lovely young man. I wish the two of you happiness," Lady Alerie said to Roberta, who responded with a sweet smile.
Rhaegar soon spotted Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf, and Robert Baratheon standing together among the guests. The sight nearly made him laugh: a gathering of the two future kings of reckless indulgence, one from the North and one from the South. One was the Bloody Wolf, the other the Storm Lord reborn. What could Rhaegar say about the pair? They truly were cut from the same cloth, both wild firstborn sons. House Stark possessed the blood of the wolf, while House Baratheon carried the blood of the storm. Comparatively speaking, Robert's tastes in women were even broader; he cared little whether they were prostitutes, widows, or serving girls—only passion mattered. It would not be long before he became infamous for womanizing. Brandon Stark, as a northerner, cared slightly more about reputation and preferred noble ladies rather than the completely unrestrained behavior Robert favored. Brandon possessed both the wildness and cunning of the North.
Brandon Stark stared at Rhaegar and Roberta. He usually rode through the Riverlands and rarely saw so many knights and noble ladies gathered together. He was still contemplating the words of his father, Lord Rickard Stark: whether the strategy of moving southward was truly correct and feasible, and Brandon himself was one piece of that grand design. Brandon felt the Throne Room tonight was dazzling and magnificent, a prosperity unlike anything in the North. This fleeting splendor momentarily allowed him to forget the desolation and cold of Winterfell.
"My sister, isn't she beautiful? The Queen of Love and Beauty tonight!" Robert Baratheon proudly declared to Brandon Stark.
"She is very beautiful, but I also have a beautiful younger sister—the Ice Rose of Winterfell, the pride of all House Stark," Brandon Stark replied.
Robert curled his lip. Could the glow of a firefly compare to the brilliance of the moon? Though he was not intentionally boasting about his sister, Roberta truly was regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms. How beautiful could the daughter of the Old Wolf possibly be? Rumor claimed Rickard Stark always looked grim, as though he suffered from chronic constipation.
"The prince is certainly popular," Brandon Stark remarked to Robert, his tone carrying a trace of jealousy. If the prince had not already been accompanied by a maiden, those beautiful girls might have drowned him beneath their attention. In truth, as two unmarried heirs of great houses, many maidens also flirted around Brandon and Robert, but their popularity was undeniably inferior to Rhaegar's.
"Girls are always like this, my dear Brandon," Robert replied with a grin. "Girls love gold and jewels, they love strong boys, handsome boys, noble young lords. As you can see, our prince lacks none of those things. I heard he earned several million gold dragons from the Battle of Bloodstone alone. But his life must be rather boring now; if my sister keeps watch over him, he won't even get to chase many girls—just like she beats me half to death! We're still too young. Give it a few more years, and then we can compete to see whose sword has tasted more blood."
Brandon understood what Robert meant. The children of House Baratheon were always tall, strong, and attractive, while Roberta also carried dragonlord blood, making her the likely princess of the next generation. For some reason, Brandon suddenly thought of his own sister. He felt Lyanna Stark and Lady Roberta shared certain similarities, though their appearances were entirely different. Lyanna Stark possessed the long face, brown hair, and gray eyes characteristic of House Stark, the Ice Rose of Winterfell. Roberta Baratheon possessed the charcoal-black hair and sea-blue eyes of House Baratheon inherited from her mother.
"Compared to girls, I would rather challenge Prince Rhaegar," Brandon suddenly declared. He was extremely confident in his swordsmanship and horsemanship, appearing almost like a centaur when mounted. House Stark had also produced legendary swordsmen, such as Cregan Stark, whom Prince Aemon the Dragonknight once praised after their duel as one of the greatest swordsmen he had ever encountered. Considering the age difference—Aemon had been far younger than Cregan at the time—and Cregan's disadvantage of old age, coupled with the decline in martial standards following the Dance of the Dragons, Cregan Stark might truly have been the greatest swordsman of an entire era.
"Challenge him? That would be difficult," Robert laughed loudly. "Don't you understand? He's a monster. People say he awakened both the dragon and the giant inside his body. My strength is already considerable, but compared to him, I'm no match at all. It feels as though some kind of magic inside him exceeds human limits. Normally, warriors' physical strength shouldn't differ so greatly. Haven't you heard the rumors? Across the Narrow Sea, people say Rhaegar is the incarnation of dragonfire itself, transforming into a dragon at night, devouring everything, and thus remaining eternally vigorous and eager to conquer the world."
Brandon scoffed. He did not believe the nonsense about dragon incarnations, but he did believe in certain forms of magic. The North worshiped the old gods, and Brandon was indeed aware of ancient powers such as skinchangers and greenseers. The old women said that such hazy magic was the legacy of the old gods. The North's attitude toward magic was not as hostile as that of the southern kingdoms. Even House Stark itself seemed wrapped in traces of ancient sorcery.
Rhaegar and Roberta soon walked over toward Brandon Stark.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, young Lord Brandon Stark of the North."
Rhaegar observed a tall youth with gray-brown hair, gray eyes, and a long face as sharp as a sword, resembling a wild wolf roaming the northern wilderness. Brandon Stark, heir and eldest son of Lord Rickard Stark, was far more robust and handsome than his younger brother Eddard.
"Your Grace, your name is known even in the distant North," Brandon Stark said, demonstrating to Robert what genuine flattery looked like—knowing when to yield and when to stand firm. "And the beautiful light of Storm's End beside you; the two of you are truly perfectly matched." The Wild Wolf's words delighted Roberta.
Brandon was not merely a wild wolf, but a cunning one as well. Thinking of Brandon's later enthusiasm toward Catelyn Tully—even though she had not been his first love—the Wild Wolf would still fulfill his obligations for the sake of power. He resembled his ancestor Cregan Stark more than most realized. However, Brandon Stark was still only a young wolf sheltered beneath his father's wings. Too many people protected and indulged him, preventing him from developing into another Cregan. Unlike his ancestor, Brandon had not grown up amidst danger and struggle, forced to remain vigilant and ruthless like a true wolf. Cregan Stark had raised an army to overthrow his uncle at eighteen, served as Hand of the King at twenty-three, and embodied the wolf who stepped back only to control everything.
Rhaegar looked at Brandon Stark. The true blood of the wolf should belong to the Wolf King guarding the North. Eddard Stark was not truly representative of old House Stark traditions; a true Stark should resemble Cregan Stark: perceptive, resourceful, and fierce. Eddard Stark was first a second son born to obey orders, meant to serve his elder brother much like Kevan Lannister served Tywin. Then he was fostered in the Vale at the Eyrie, where Jon Arryn had effectively shaped him into another kind of man.
Winter is coming. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.
Rhaegar silently reflected upon the words. Before absolute power, everything else eventually seemed to fade like smoke.
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