Inside the City: Saltcliffe Manse
The Saltcliffe manse is, compared to others, unassuming. Built of mottled black and grey stone, the design is more utilitarian than lovely, but the stark facade is softened by the sheer wildness of the gardens around it. Roses bloom in brilliant profusion, climbing the walls and lining the paths. The gates to the street are overhung with ancient oaks, their limbs kept trimmed to create a tunnel over the mossy cobbles of the pathway in. The manse doors are of solid oak, and over them is a round window of faceted glass, depicting the seven-rayed star of the Faith.
In the great hall beyond those doors, a rainbow of light spills through the prismed window onto the cold stones of the floor. The sun pours through every window along the hall, and into the solar above. The banners and tapestries gleam in jewelled colors in this profusion of light and air. The great hall is long and narrow, the far end with a lower ceiling than the front, where a massive table greets those coming in. A curving flight of stairs gives way to the hall above, where the solar sweeps toward the back wall of the manse, and recessed doors indicate private chambers. At the lower end of the great hall, an enormous stone hearth with a mantle of plain white marble stands ready for winter, and the drab floors are brightened with soft rugs and softer chairs; it is a haven of comfort in the otherwise spartan hall. Here, too, ivy climbs from huge pots to frame the windows that look out on a garden of flowers and trees, and cushions are placed in the window seats for anyone who wishes to sit and look out. It is not a manse that screams of wealth, but of taste and comfort and potential good cheer.
The doors out of the manse lead on to the Street of the Sisters, part way up its course towards Visenya’s Hill.
The fine weather has most of the denizens of King’s Landing outdoors, for the western wind sweeps foul scents out into the bay and leaves clean air in its wake. The sun does not beat mercilessly down today, so it finds Reyna Saltcliffe in her garden with her children.
She is sitting on the edge of a largish fountain, watching one of her husband’s Reavers as he bends over a tow-headed boy holding a wooden sword. The boy, however, seems disinclined to even lift the faux weapon—his voice as it wafts on the breeze is querulous and sulky, and consists mostly of two words: “Want Tywell!”
The clip-clop of horse’s hooves sound outside the courtyard of the manse, drawing nearer and nearer. Traffic is not so uncommon on the road without, and like as not it’ll pass ... but they draw to a halt outside, with a jingle of spurs and the a horse’s whicker. A few moments after, the gates resound with a pair of sharp knocks, and then, “Hello, the manse!” delivered by a gravel-voiced man.
The Reaver looks up and leaves the boy’s side, jogging past Reyna as she rises. Andrys Rowan wanders back into the manse, dragging his wooden sword behind him with a grating sound.
At the gates, Ser Edmund peers through the bars with a hand on his hilts. “Who asks?”
“A man of the City Watch, ser,” answers a man wearing the gold cloak, his face lined with years and his voice distinctly lowborn. He ducks his head after peering at the man, and then adds, “On behalf of this Dornish knight, I mean. Ser Aidan of House Dayne, from the Red Keep. He said as he wanted to visit your lady.” He turns and gestures behind him, to where the aforementioned knight stands beside his horse, holdings it reins. His manner seems cool and stiff, to say the least. The gold cloak frowns and then adds, “We thought, maybe your lady didn’t want to be disturbed, ser, so that’s why I’m knocking. If you want, I can tell him some other time would be better, what with brave Ser Dagur away and all.”
The Reaver coughs to cover a chuckle as he glances at Reyna. “Let him in,” Reyna says as she comes up, babe still on her shoulder. “And the watch as well, of course. Edmund, you may guest them, or they may stay with Ser Aidan.” She stands back as the gates are unlocked and drawn open, then greets Aidan with a smile and a bobbed curtsy. “You are welcome here, ser.”
“Thank you, Lady Reyna,” the young Dornishman says, offering a precise bow as he does so. There’s no questioning that he’s from Dorne, the way he speaks, nor the robes and that long hair, but he certainly knows his courtesies. If they remain a trifle stiff, the cause need only be seen as the watchman shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “Thanks kindly, m’lady. I’ll stay out here, with the horses, I suppose.” He mutters something under his breath as he turns away and has Aidan surrender the reins to him.
Passing then through the gate, Ser Aidan gives Ser Edmure a glance and then a careful nod, before asking, “I hope I am not disturbing you, Lady Reyna? I should have sent ahead, I know.”
“Not at all, Ser Aidan,” Reyna replies, waving a hand dismissively and leading Aidan along the walk. “Listening to a sulky child is hardly so amusing I wouldn’t welcome diversion.” She glances behind toward the gates. “The horses are welcome in the stable,” she calls to the gold cloak. “There is water and fodder both, and comfort for you and your men.”
Once she has come a few paces away from the gates and into the shade, she looks up at Aidan. “I will confess curiosity, however. To what do I owe the honor?”
The watchmen accepts the lady’s hospitality with a brief nod, and he and the other watchman with him move on to the stable with the three horses. Aidan waits watches them go, before moving to take his ease in the garden’s shade. The scent of flowers is pleasant enough, and for a moment the stiff young knight smiles. “A pretty place, my lady,” he says before shifting to a more uneasy tone, “and I am sorry to turn your mind from it, and the child. But… I have a favor to ask of you, if you would hear it.”
A maid has come from the manse, and Reyna delays replying until she has handed the baby off to her, kissing his dark head and smiling until he is gone. Then she gives Aidan her full attention. “I will hear it, of course.” She resumes her perch on the fountain’s edge, beneath the shade of one of the old oaks, and indicates a stone bench facing her. “I can make no promises in advance, I fear, but I will hear it.”
A brief bow, more than courtesy demands, and then Aidan takes the proffered seat on the bench though can hardly said to be easy as he sits as stiffly as he stood earlier.. His hands move without thought to adjust his robes about him, calloused fingers plucking at the sandsilk and linen to smooth it out as he starts, “We have only spoken a few times, my lady, so I hope it is not forward of me to think I might ask a favor. But it was Lord Corwen who put me to thinking of this.” A pause of hesitation, his violet eyes glancing away in thought and then return.
“You see, he suggested ... well. He made it plain that perhaps I have been too certain that there is nothing I can do for my family from the city,” he explains. “Up to recently, I have been satisfied to hold to the oaths I swore, and think little enough on Starfall. But Lord Baratheon was kind enough to suggest that I might exert myself on behalf of Starfall, which as you know my sister Lady Alia holds ... with Ser Wallace Chester. A man formerly of your brother’s household, and a good friend to him, I’ve heard.”
He’s reticent to explain the situation, it seems, but when he comes to Ser Wallace, a coldness creeps into his voice.
If the Dornishman is stiff, so does Reyna become at mention of the Baratheon name. But she listens closely, her fingers occasionally tapping thoughtfully on the stone edge of the fountain.
“Ser Wallace, yes,” she says finally. “A very… assertive man. I have almost no influence at all over events in Dorne, ser, but I have felt for your lady sister ever since word came of her plight. What would you ask of me?”
“You are kind to say so, about my sister,” Ser Aidan says, and it’s heartfelt. “To come to the point, my lady, I fear I must beg for news of Starfall. Other than a brief missive letting me know of ... oh my nephew’s birth, your brother’s namesake, I’ve had nothing. My own letters, when I’m allowed to send them, go unanswered.” It’s an unhappy admission, the last. He shifts slightly on the stone bench, lips pressed together a moment, and then he adds, “I am sure Ser Wallace is an honorable man, and what little we hear of the ... troubles with Lords Blackmont and Manwoody are doubtless trying when he holds the castle. But if you might ask of him out of courtesy to allow my sister to send word more often, or perhaps ask your brother Lord Tyrell to ask it of him, I would be very grateful.”
Whatever it was Reyna had expected to hear, clearly it is not this. “Of course I will, Ser Aidan,” she says, all compassion now. “I will send ravens to Ser Wallace and my brother both, as soon as I’m at the Keep. Oh, I do wish you’d asked sooner; I might have sent all the sooner to relieve your anxiety.”
Ser Aidan’s mouth opens and then closes again, expectations well surpassed by Reyna’s generosity. It’s not the finest image the Knight of the Twilight can make, it must be said, especially as his cheeks darken with a blush of embarrassment. He ducks his head, half a bow, as he adds with fervent sincerity, “Thank you, Lady Reyna. Thank you.” He shifts again in the seat, back rigid, and chews on his lip for a moment before adding, “I do not know why I hesitated to ask. Lord Corwen suggested I had friends here, outside the Dornish Tower, who could help me. But I doubted him. I have largely kept to myself, wishing no trouble, and if out of courtesy there are those who are pleasant, well, it is courtesy such as the highborn trade with one another. And perhaps this is courtesy, too, but more than I would have expected. And so, I thank you again, my lady; the graces of Highgarden are a byword, it’s said, and now I know why.” He manages an uneasy smile after he winds down to a stop, and looks younger than his years when he does so.
“It is a delicate place, to be sure,” Reyna says, smiling. “I try to stay aloof myself, out of respect for your position, and my brother’s. But it is no courtesy, Ser Aidan. I know well how it feels to be out of touch with loved ones, and if I can ease it, I will.”
She is quiet for a moment, then leans forward slightly. “If possible, I hope you will keep my part in this to yourself. I do not do it for attention, but because I know your sister must be as anxious to write you as you are to hear word.”
“You have my thanks, my lady, so there is no need to worry—I will be circumspect,” Ser Aidan says, half-bowing from his seat. He starts to speak.
Another knock upon the gate interrupts, louder and more insistent than before. Then a face can be seen through the bars, a knight often about court. “Hello, the manse!” he shouts, and then glimpses the lady and the Dornishman on the benches. He grins. “Oh! Good day to you, Lady Reyna,” he says with a sly sort of cheerfulness, though his eyes are on knight from Starfall. “Prince Aegon is here. He wishes a few moments of your time, if you’re not occupied.”
Reyna rises at the knock, but goes deathly pale to hear who has come. She gestures, and Ser Edmund comes at once from the trees. “See his grace in, please, and then send Smiler to attend me,” she says, bending her head toward the gate with a polite smile.
She smiles still as she turns to Aidan. “Thank you for your discretion,” she says quietly, looking faintly ill. “I fear I must… you may stay, if you wish.” Somehow it sounds like begging.
The interruption certainly puts Aidan to a stop, and when the prince is announced, he stands up. “You’re a popular hostess today, Lady Reyna,” he says, a harmless courtesy. And then he registers something in the lady’s voice, and his smile grows fainter. He glances back to the gate, and then nods. “I should be pleased to, my lady. It is a good place to pass the time.” He does not resume his seat, however, as the gate is opened to admit Aegon and his retinue of several knights and squires.
Handsome as only a Targaryen can be, and arrogant with it, the prince is a jumps from the saddle vigorously, tossing the reins to an attending squire. “There, put those beasts in the stable. The lady and I’ll be awhile,” he announces, and then turns with a grin which turns sharp when he notes the Dornishman. “What’s this? Ser Aidan Dayne, is it not? What a surprise! I’ve not interrupted anything sensitive, have I, Lady Reyna?” The purple eyes—true purple, unlike Dayne’s blue eyes that shade into violet—are laughing as he makes his fatuous query.
“Matters of house only, your grace,” Reyna says, dipping into a curtsy with head bent. “I fear that our stable is small, and there is not room for all your mounts, but they will be tended in the stableyard.”
A lean, scarred man with hard eyes come to stand in the shadows nearby, watching silently, and this seems to lend some steel to Reyna’s spine. “How may I serve your grace?”
“Matters of house? How pleasant. Well, Ser Aidan, enough playing house, ser. You may be on your way, before the hour grows dark and the alleys and streets become less than safe for you Dornishmen.” The prince’s dismissal is clear enough. But the Dornishman, after the faintest hesitation, merely offers, “I thank you, my lord prince, for your concern; but I’ve two of the City Watch, and they’ll see me safe by day or night, I am sure. Lady Reyna invited me to stay for awhile, and I had just accepted.” It’s courteously put, and there’s not a hint of the Dornish knight being concerned about it being taken less than well.
As, of course, it is. The prince’s expression turns flat. His eyes shift between the two, and then to that scarred sellsword. “What’s this? Have I grown a foot and become Stormbreaker?” There’s a sneer in his voice, if not on his face. His retinue shift their places, some more casually than others. “Such a puissant knight and a doughty sellsword to keep us company, my lady?”
“Smiler attends me on my lord husband’s orders, your grace,” Reyna says, bending her head. “He is ever mindful of my safety, and with so many strangers in the garden…” she waves an apologetic hand toward the Prince’s retinue and the gold-cloaks alike. “A lady alone is at risk of having her virtue questioned, and my lord is jealous of mine. Surely your grace will understand the necessity.”
“Strangers. Of course,” the prince says. “My good friends here are as mindful of my safety, I suppose. Who can blame them? These pet sellswords of yours have a fiercesome reputation.” And then the Dornishman gets a look, and he smiles thinly. “And Ser Aidan has his own reputation—more glorious than fierce, I suppose, isn’t it, ser? Not quite good enough to beat my brother, perhaps, but enough to get him off his horse. That’s something.”
Ser Aidan bows stiffly in acknowledgment, but says nothing to it.
“Well, fewer strangers suit me fine,” Prince Aegon offers magnanimousl. “Men of the Watch!” he says aloud. “Hurry up, laggards—a prince of the blood wants you!” Well, that seems to rouse them out of the stables quick enough, looking annoyed as they have cups in hand ... which are quickly dropped as they stand practically to attention before Prince Aegon. He laughs at them, not pleasantly. “Well, seduced by the hospitality of Highgarden, eh? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on this man?” he says, gesturing at Aidan. The older man starts to respond, when Aegon cuts him off. “See Ser Aidan to the Dornish tower, immediately—no dilly-dallying about, or visiting a brothel with him in tow, do you hear?” There’s nothing to do but for the men to comply, with excessive zeal as they crowd Aidan and become adamant that it’s time for him to go. One of them hurries to fetch the horses.
“As your grace commands,” Reyna says graciously, if still pale in the face. She turns to speak to Smiler and he responds with a few motions of his fingers and a retreat toward the manse, where presumably he will prevent anyone exiting to be a nuisance.
To Ser Aidan, she bobs a curtsy. “Thank you for coming, ser. I will see to the matter we discussed at once.” Then, with resignation in her eyes, she turns to face Aegon. “I am your grace’s servant.”