296 AC
He never knew the world was such a large place!
From the Red Mountains of Dorne all the way to the Dreadfort, House Bolton's grim seat in the bleak North, Alesander Frey had ridden from one end of the realm to the other, and back again twice. They never stayed in any one place for long: his Ser, the Lady Mordaena, and Jack-o-nose with his company of soldiers.
Ser Domeric and his lady were almost another father and mother to him, of a queer sort, at least, easing the pain of long separation from his family. They'd been on the road for over a year. Alesander's name day had come and gone and come again. He was twelve now, almost a man grown, and squire to the finest young knight in all Seven Kingdoms if you wanted his opinion.
His master was better than the master-at-arms at the Twins, that was for sure, not just better at arms, but a better teacher. Whenever he visited the yard of some castle they were guesting at, Alesander could best most of the squires. That would've never happened if he'd stayed where he was. For once, his mother being Braavosi had turned out to his benefit, for Betharios Frey was fast friends with Lady Mordaena, who found a place for him.
Ah, and the music, must never forget the music. You couldn't ask for a better music master, and Al had learned half a hundred songs at Ser Domeric's feet. With lute and harp and drums and voice, they played together of a night, entertaining highborn ladies and tavern wenches alike.
Lady Mordaena made sure he never forgot his mother's tongue, either. Her beauty was distracting, even more so now that she was new with child. They were seeking after what tourneys they might while she was still fit to travel. Personally, Al liked the Reach best, with the flowing wine and abundant sweets, but they had the finest welcome in Dorne, where Ser Domeric's songs could set the whole hall to weeping bitter tears. They sent birds to Sunspear often, and Prince Oberyn Martel, who was actually kind once you made him smile, even sent Al a gift for his last name day: a sand steed that never tired. There was even talk of him bringing his children to the North to visit.
Just now, they were pushing up the Kingsroad, for his grandfather, Lord Walder, was to wed again, and both he and Ser Domeric would sing at the wedding feast. As a general rule, they avoided the rest of the Riverlands, what with the incident at Fairmarket, but that Edmure Tully was a rotten sort, who spat on the Freys and looked down on them. Serves him right for insulting Lady Mordaena.
When last they visited home, Al and his mother had a good, long talk, during which she explained that Mordaena Solel was actually of better blood than her kin in Braavos. Mordaena's mother, the Lady of Sparrows, was a living legend, high in honor in that city, and her father was richer than most lords not named Lannister. That, of course, only made Ser Domeric seem the greater, having that sort for a concubine. Bolton was an ancient house, petty kings in the Age of Heroes, which Alesander could easily believe. His Ser was better than most of the heroes they sang of. Blood tells, as they say.
After they'd arrived back at the Twins and had a nice bath, his mother embraced him fiercely. "Alesander, my sweet boy! How you've grown!" she whispered into his ear in Braavosi.
He squeezed her back just as hard. When he was little, other boys made mock of him for having a dark, foreign mother, but now Alesander Frey was proud. "Mother, are you well?"
"More than well, child." She carried a Bolton Bag slung over her shoulder. Even his sister Alyx had one, much to the envy of every other lady at the Twins. They would present one to Grandfather's new wife as a gift. "Mordaena and I have been talking. She is as generous a patron as you could want, as any might expect from a Solel. Your father Symond shall be joining the trade in Bolton Bags, and seeing them shipped across the Narrow Sea. He is much in favor with your grandfather these days, and House Frey's stake shall only expand."
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That pleased him to hear. "I am glad for him. With no lands, we must look to trade."
Mother smiled. "Just so, dear heart. Mordaena also says you take instruction well in sword and song. When you win your spurs, she will speak to Ser Domeric about taking your brother Bradamar to squire." She leaned in, switching to Braavosi to avoid being overheard. "Aye, and mayhaps Ser Domeric might even wed your sister Alyx, once she gets a little older."
That took him aback. "Truly?"
"Mayhaps. Symond's mother was a Crakehall, and my shape is generous as well. My hope is she will grow into a full-breasted beauty. With the trouble with the House Tully, Roose Bolton might be persuaded to look south for a match. We must do all we can to please Ser Domeric and Lady Mordaena. He will be needing a wife to give him trueborn sons, and Mordaena has been kind to us. She is my bosom friend, and has been good to you as well, yes?"
"Like a second mother," Alesander answered.
That pleased Mother more. "Just so, and she shall be good to Ser Domeric's wife when he weds, as long as the bride has the right attitude. I shall prepare Alyx, and educate her after the fashion of families in Braavos. Wedding a man with a concubine, especially one so great as the Lady Mordaena, is no dishonor."
Alesander hoped Alyx would agree.
***
His sister, Alyx Frey, was a big-boned girl, with broad shoulders and dark hair. She had a bold tongue and loved her Bolton Bag more than anything. They used to fight like tigers and dragons, but since he visited the Twins only a few times a year, they'd grown closer.
"I'm ever so jealous of you, Al," she said at the feast. Grandfather was wedding a girl not even a quarter of his age who looked terrified, but even she loved songs. Alesander and Ser Domeric played together for a time, then his master dismissed him to get something to eat. He'd plopped down next to his sister, who'd saved a nice, crispy capon for him.
"Has Mother told you?" he asked, leaving out the big part of the question.
Their eyes met. "Yes. Ser Domeric is handsome, no? They say he's won half a hundred tourneys."
Al smiled, not so many as that, and when he faced the really good knights in the lists, he didn't always win. That said...
"I've been to the Dreadfort," he mentioned conversationally while tearing a heel of bread in two. "Plenty of room there, with a vault full of gold that grows fuller all the time."
"And all the Bolton bags a girl could wish for," Alyx added dreamily. She was staring at his Ser, Al noticed, and clutching her bag like a kitten, even at the banquet board.
What ladies loved about these bags, Alesander would never know. His swordbelt and boots were of lizard leather, supple and comfortable, and he much preferred them to a bag, yet ladies could be queer about such things. "Aye, and he has many friends in the realm. He's kin to Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell, and exchanges letters with a Prince of Dorne."
They talked a while longer, speaking much of the man who made their branch of Freys rise in favor. There was no way Father would ever inherit the twins. Symond Frey was Lord Walder's seventh son, and falling further behind in the line of succession with every child born to the first six, aye, and grandchildren too, but these days their predicament seemed not so difficult as it had been.
Alesander still had much to learn, but there was no better place than where he was. Domeric would teach him sword and song and lance, and Alesander Frey would make a knight. Things would slow down after Mordaena had her babe, he knew, but she wasn't even showing yet.
A few days later, they were preparing to depart for Barrowton when a bird arrived. There was to be a grand tourney in King's Landing, in honor of Queen Cersei's name day. The numbers for the prizes shocked him. It was more than the winnings Ser Domeric had in every tourney he'd competed in so far put together. They were going to King's Landing!