style="font-size:15px;"> “I understand.”
Blackwood hesitated a moment. “Is it your wish that I dismount and kneel before you here and now?”
A hundred 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 right to hold my cock. And you have six sons, my lord, not four.”
“Once. Robert was my youngest and never strong. He died nine days ago, of a looseness of the bowels. Lucas was murdered at the Red Wedding. Walder Frey’s fourth wife was a Blackwood, but kinship counts for no more than guest right at the Twins. I should like to bury Lucas beneath the tree, but the Freys have not yet seen fit to return his bones to me.”
“I’ll see that they do. Was Lucas your eldest son?”
“My second. Brynden is my eldest, and my heir. Next comes Hoster. A bookish boy, I fear.”
“They have books in King’s Landing too. I recall my little brother reading them from time to time. Perhaps your son would like a look at them. I will accept Hoster as our hostage.”
Blackwood’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, my lord.” He hesitated a moment. “If I may be so bold, you would do well to require a hostage from Lord Jonos too. One of his daughters. For all his rutting, he has not proved man enough to father sons.”
“He had a bastard son killed in the war.”
“Did he? Harry was a bastard, true enough, but whether Jonos sired him is a thornier question. A fair-haired boy, he was, and comely. Jonos is neither.” Lord Tytos got to his feet. “Will you do me the honor of taking supper with me?”
“Some other time, my lord.” The castle was starving; no good would be served by Jaime stealing food from their mouths. “I cannot linger. Riverrun awaits.”
“Riverrun? Or King’s Landing?”
“Both.”
Lord Tytos did not attempt to dissuade him. “Hoster can be ready to depart within the hour.”
He was. The boy met Jaime by the stables, with a bedroll slung over one shoulder and a bundle of scrolls beneath his arm. He could not have been any older than sixteen, yet he was even taller than his father, almost seven feet of legs and shins and elbows, a gangling, gawky boy with a cowlick. “Lord Commander. I’m your hostage, Hoster.
