The Breaker of the Oceans, Chapter 37

For reasons of their own, which they spoke of to no one, both Rhaenyra Targaryen and her uncle Daemon left Pyke before the wedding. They mounted their dragons and rose into the air at dawn, their wings tearing through the mist and their roars shaking the cliffs. By the time the sun had reached its height, the two of them were gone, and no word was left of their intentions. None of their servants knew their plans. None of their attendants dared to offer an explanation.

It might have been seen as an insult, Valon thought, had he cared much for their presence in the first place. He had been careful in his arrangements. The royal family were housed in separate lodgings, given comfort and safety while kept at a distance from the Targaryens who had long quarreled among themselves. Rhaenyra and Daemon were given all they required but never allowed to clash with the queen’s children. Their leaving on the morning of the wedding was noticed by all, but no one had the means to stop them. That said, Valon had been looking forward to seeing Daemon perform in the coming tournament, which was really what most of the guests were there for. But that was neither here nor there; even now, warriors from all across the Seven Kingdoms were making their way to Pyke specifically for the tournament, which Valon preferred. The fewer people in his actual wedding, the better.

King Viserys was troubled by it, that much was plain. He had come to Pyke for this day, and he sat at Valon’s side during the feasts with a look that dimmed as the hours passed. He made no open rebuke, but his mood was soured, and his voice was quieter than usual when the ceremony began.

The wedding was held upon the shore. The tide was low, and the ground was flat and firm underfoot. A Septon stood beside a Priest of the Drowned God. It was the only arrangement that could satisfy both sides. The ceremony was not held upon the water, as the Ironborn would have preferred, nor was it in a sept of stone, as the Greenlanders would have liked. Instead, it was here, beneath the sky and before the sea, and the people accepted it.

Tymond Lannister led his sister. Their father had been long dead, and Tymond stood as head of his house. His sister was under his care, and he now gave her into the care of Valon. Tyla Lannister was robed in the colors of her house, a lion of gold upon red cloth. She walked slowly, steady and unshaken, the wind tugging at the hem of her gown and carrying her hair behind her.

Valon watched her approach. He thought of how far his house had come. No lord of Pyke had ever stood in such company before. He was not blind to the weight of the moment. He stood straight and still, his hands clasped behind him, and did not move until she stood before him.

And as she had promised, his daughter was there. Hela Greyjoy, his blood and pride, came to the wedding in the company of her Einherjar. They were armored in black and moved with the order of men trained to kill. The people drew back at their passing, though most did not. Hela herself walked at their head, her hair loose, her face set in calm, her eyes sharp as the edge of a blade. She did not smile. She did not bow. She only stood with her warriors and bore witness. That said, he caught her smiling once or twice.

The wedding began, and the words of both faiths were spoken. The crowd fell into silence as the Priest of the Drowned God raised his voice over the sea wind.

“In the realm and presence of the Drowned God, and in the presence of his Exalted Scion, do you take this woman as your Rock Wife, to stand and fight by her side, to honor and defend her, to shelter her under your roof and merge your souls in the name of the Drowned God, here, now, and forevermore?”

“I take this woman, Tyla Lannister, as my Rock Wife,” Valon said. His voice carried over the surf. “Here, now, and forevermore.”

By Ironborn law, no Greenlander woman could ever be called a Rock Wife. That right belonged only to women of the Iron Islands. But law and custom were not absolute anymore. Not when the Priests themselves had declared Hela Greyjoy the Scion of the Drowned God, flesh made living from their god’s will. Valon had long known that such recognition carried more weight than crowns or banners. It gave him the freedom to set his own order, and no man in the Isles dared to challenge it. They could mutter their discontent behind closed doors, but no one would rise against him. Not now.

The priest turned to Tyla. “And do you, woman, take this man as your husband, to be his shield when needed, to stand and fight by his side, to honor and defend him, and make safe his home and merge your souls, here, now, and forevermore?”

Tyla smiled faintly, her green eyes steady in the firelight of the torches set along the shore. Her voice was calm and clear. “I take this man, Valon Greyjoy, as my husband. Here, now, and forevermore.”

The priest stepped forward. He poured a measure of salt water over their heads, the chill of it running down Valon’s face and into his beard. He bound their wrists together with a strip of seaweed, knotted tight. Then he stepped back. “Let it be known to the sea that you are man and wife. May nothing break this sacred bond.”

Valon smiled then. By Ironborn rite, they were wed. But he knew the Greenlanders were watching, and Tyla still bore the red and gold of her house upon her shoulder. For the Lannisters, there had to be a second binding.

The Septon came forward, his robes heavy and his face pale from the sea air. Tymond Lannister stood tall beside his sister. With his own hands, he lifted the lion’s banner from her shoulder. Valon then stepped forward and draped her instead with the banner of House Greyjoy: black upon gray, the kraken twisting in gold.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could see the small smile on his lips. He kissed her, firm and steady. Together, their words followed, practiced but not hollow.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

“And take you for my lord and husband,” Tyla said.

“And take you for my lady and wife,” Valon replied.

The Septon lifted his voice. “Here, in the sights of gods and men, I solemnly proclaim Valon of the House Greyjoy and Tyla of the House Lannister to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

The crowd answered with cheers, first the Greenlanders, then the Ironborn, then both together. The torches shook in the wind, the sea behind them restless but calm enough to bear witness. And at Valon’s side, his bride stood now not as a Lannister under her brother’s care, but as a Greyjoy, bound to him before gods and men alike.

The sea was calm that night. The banners of Lannister and Greyjoy hung side by side above the hall, unmoving in the still air. Both gods had been called over the union and both families had been satisfied with the ceremony. The feast that followed stretched late into the night. Tables were heavy with roasted boar, spiced fish, and bread carried fresh from the ovens–as a first course. Food from all across the known world was served as ingredients from even Asshai were used in the creation of culinary delights and then served.  All the guests enjoyed it. Prince Aemond, in particular, developed a taste for Lengi cuisine. Barrels of wine from the Reach and dark ales from the Iron Islands were rolled out until the floor was wet with what spilled, and rare bottles of colorless rice wine from Yi Ti were served and poured. Musicians from all across Westeros and Essos played in shifts and men sang when they were too drunk to keep quiet.

When at last the feasting ended, the guests retired to their quarters. There was no bedding ceremony. The Ironborn did not practice such things and Valon would never allow it for his bride. Tymond Lannister agreed at once. No man was going to put a hand on Tyla’s body. Instead, a smaller custom was observed. The King himself and Lady Alicent, the white-cloaked Kingsguard, Hela with several of her Einherjar, and Tymond with his wife stood briefly outside the chamber door. It was a quiet and plain affair. Voices were heard, enough to confirm the marriage had been made complete. By their word alone, the matter was settled.

When it was done, they each went their separate ways. Hela was the first to leave. She slipped away as soon as she could, walking fast down the passage and not looking back. Before long she was gone entirely, vanished into the dark halls of Pyke, and no one followed her. The King and his men went back to their quarters. Tymond and his wife returned to their own chambers. 

Breakfast was another feast. Valon made certain of it. No man or woman in Pyke, whether highborn or lowborn, would go hungry for the whole week. Each day, breakfast, dinner, and supper were laid out as if for kings. Long tables filled the halls and even the courtyards, lined with roasted meats, fresh fish, bread, cheese, and barrels of drink. The kitchens worked without pause, and the smoke of their fires hung heavy in the air above the castle.

The dragons of House Targaryen were not forgotten. Whole carcasses of aurochs were brought in, butchered and dragged out into the pits where the beasts were tethered. The sound of tearing flesh and the smell of blood carried far on the wind when they ate. It unsettled some of the smallfolk, but Valon did not care. They would endure it.

No expense was spared. Valon had more than enough coin to feed ten times the number of guests for a year and not notice the loss. Ships from the East Essos Trading Company docked daily, their holds packed with spices, fruit, wine, grain, and salted meats. Some of the cargo went straight into the kitchens. The rest was moved to the warehouses, to be traded again later. Nothing was wasted.

Hela was nowhere to be seen most days. Valon was not surprised. Feasts and drinking held little interest for her. He did not know where she went or what she busied herself with, but he did not trouble over it. She would appear when it suited her. And, quite frankly, there was nothing here that could threaten her–or even harm her for that matter.

By the third day, more guests had arrived. Warriors, lords, and merchants crowded Pyke. The yards and the shore swelled with tents, banners, and noise. Just as Valon had planned, the time had come to begin the tournament. Perfect. It was the one event that all the guests were very eager for; after all, no one was barred from attending. Even the lowest of peasants were allowed to join the competition. And the prizes were nothing to scoff at either. And so, warriors from all walks of life–from everywhere, including Essos–made the journey to Pyke just to join the tournament. Some even came all the way from Yi Ti and Asshai. The guests from Yi Ti were more interesting as some of them were former members of the Azure Guard or had been contestants in the Wudang Tournament that Hela had participated in and became champion of many years ago and was granted the title of “Peerless Under Heaven”, the strongest martial artist in all of Yi Ti, by the Emperor of Yi Ti himself.