A Feast for Dragons

eyes were looking on. “The wind is cold and the
yard is muddy,” said Jaime. “You can do your kneeling on the carpet in your solar
once we’ve agreed on terms.”
    “That is chivalrous of you,” said Lord Tytos. “Come, ser. My
hall might lack for food, but never for courtesy.”
    Blackwood’s solar was on the second floor of a cavernous
timber keep. There was a fire burning in the hearth when they entered. The room
was large and airy, with great beams of dark oak supporting the high ceiling.
Woolen tapestries covered the walls, and a pair of wide latticework doors
looked out upon the godswood. Through their thick, diamond-shaped panes of yellow
glass Jaime glimpsed the gnarled limbs of the tree from which the castle took
its name. It was a weirwood ancient and colossal, ten times the size of the one
in the Stone Garden at Casterly Rock. This tree was bare and dead, though.
    “The Brackens poisoned it,” said his host. “For a thousand
years it has not shown a leaf. In another thousand it will have turned to
stone, the maesters say. Weirwoods never rot.”
    “And the ravens?” asked Jaime. “Where are they?”
    “They come at dusk and roost all night. Hundreds of them.
They cover the tree like black leaves, every limb and every branch. They have
been coming for thousands of years. How or why, no man can say, yet the tree
draws them every night.” Blackwood settled in a high-backed chair. “For honor’s
sake I must ask about my liege lord.”
    “Ser Edmure is on his way to Casterly Rock as my captive.
His wife will remain at the Twins until their child is born. Then she and the
babe will join him. So long as he does not attempt escape or plot rebellion,
Edmure will live a long life.”
    “Long and bitter. A life without honor. Until his dying day,
men will say he was afraid to fight.”
    Unjustly
, Jaime thought.
It was his
child he feared for. He knew whose son I am, better than mine own aunt
.
“The choice was his. His uncle would have made us bleed.”
    “We agree on that much.” Blackwood’s voice gave nothing
away. “What have you done with Ser Brynden, if I may ask?”
    “I offered to let him take the black. Instead he fled.”
Jaime smiled. “Do you have him here, perchance?”
    “No.”
    “Would you tell me if you did?”
    It was Tytos Blackwood’s turn to smile.
    Jaime brought his hands together, the gold fingers inside
the fleshy ones. “Perhaps it is time we talked of terms.”
    “Is this where I get down on my knees?”
    “If it please you. Or we can say you did.”
    Lord Blackwood remained seated. They soon reached agreement
on the major points: confession, fealty, pardon, a certain sum of gold and
silver to be paid. “What lands will you require?” Lord Tytos asked. When Jaime
handed him the map, he took one look and chuckled. “To be sure. The turncloak
must be given his reward.”
    “Yes, but a smaller one than he imagines, for a smaller
service. Which of these lands will you consent to part with?”
    Lord Tytos considered for a moment. “Woodhedge, Crossbow
Ridge, and Buckle.”
    “A ruin, a ridge, and a few hovels? Come, my lord. You must
suffer for your treason. He will want one of the mills, at least.” Mills were a
valuable source of tax. The lord received a tenth of all the grain they ground.
    “Lord’s Mill, then. Grindcorn is ours.”
    “And another village. Cairns?”
    “I have forebears buried beneath the rocks of Cairns.” He
looked at the map again. “Give him Honeytree and its hives. All that sweet will
make him fat and rot his teeth.”
    “Done, then. But for one last thing.”
    “A hostage.”
    “Yes, my lord. You have a daughter, I believe.”
    “Bethany.” Lord Tytos looked stricken. “I also have two
brothers and a sister. A pair of widowed aunts. Nieces, nephews, cousins. I had
thought you might consent …”
    “It must be a child of your blood.”
    “Bethany is only eight. A gentle girl, full of laughter. She
has never been more than a day’s ride from my hall.”
    “Why not let her see King’s Landing? His Grace is almost of
an age with her. He would be pleased to have another friend.”
    “One he can hang if the friend’s father should displease
him?” asked Lord Tytos. “I have four sons. Would you consider one of them
instead? Ben is twelve and thirsty for adventure. He could squire for you if it
please my lord.”
    “I have more squires than I know what to do with. Every time
I take a piss, they fight for the