296 AC
There was a soft knock on her chamber door. Strange, Barbrey Dustin thought she had left instructions not to be disturbed. She fumbled in the candlelight for a moment and drew a bedrobe around herself. The summer heat had found its way even this far north, and she wore only a thin cotton sleeping shift when she retired for the night.
"Enter," she snapped more loudly than she intended. If this was another damned house asking for more Bolton Bags...
Maester Glendon slid between a small gap in her chamber doors like the rat he was. "My lady, there's been a bird from the Twins."
Lady Dustin snatched the rolled-up parchment out of his hand and broke the seal. She wondered what the devil Walder Frey wanted. Hadn't Domeric done enough favors for his family?
Maester Glendon was still hovering over her, Barbrey noticed. That would not serve. "Leave me," she commanded. If there was one thing Lady Dustin detested, it was someone else reading over her shoulder. Once she was alone, Barbrey examined the letter.
Just a short message, unsweetened by courtesy, which was her preference. Domeric and his party had passed by and were making their way up the Neck, ten thousand dragons richer. All the south must be mad to give such a sum away, or at least the king. Domeric had to hire additional carts and guards just to bring his prize up the Kingsroad. She let out a sigh of relief. If they'd made it to the North, they were quite safe. No outlaws would dare attack riders flying a Bolton banner, not within a thousand leagues of the Dreadfort.
Ah, and they were coming back to stay. Mordaena was further along now, and she'd be having her baby at Barrow Hall. With her incomes rising as they were, Barbrey thought she might be able to build a holdfast for the child. It was a thought, a definite thought.
Her foster son's great triumph had accomplished all he had intended, and now the realm clamored for these blasted Bolton Bags with a fevered madness. Master Alandro Forel had one hundred craftsmen laboring without ceasing to produce them, and still it was not near enough. He was about to send to Braavos to summon what remained of his saddlers here. They'd have to land at White Harbor and ride long leagues to Barrowton, but there would be no more profitable labors they could engage in; that was plain.
It brought Barbrey half a hundred headaches. Her town was packed to bursting with strangers, and trading galleys crowded her sleepy Barrow River. All her day was filled with talk of tanneries and workshops and proposals for a breeding pen for the lizard lions. Lord Reed's huntsman swore it could be done. They'd promised to have watchers on the Causeway to receive a Prince of Dorne. She had always been delighted when Domeric, in his boyhood, would bring little friends to visit the castle, highborn or low. It seemed he'd outdone himself this time.
***
"Be welcome to my hearth and hall," Barbrey said formally. Oberyn Martel was handsome enough, in a rough sort of way, a bit younger than her, but his hair was receding at the temples, and he had a prominent widow's peak. His lady Ellaria looked a bit like a less-fleshy Mordaena, which Barbrey supposed made a certain sort of sense. No doubt they were fast friends.
The Prince bowed and chivalrously kissed her fingers. He'd brought a queer pack of ducklings, all with different looks as they followed their father. She couldn't fail to notice that every one, even the little girls, clutched Bolton Bags to their chests, a sure mark of her foster son's favor.
"It is a rare pleasure, Lady Dustin. Might I present mine own paramour, Ellaria Sand, and my daughters Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, and Obella? Sadly, my two youngest are a little young for such a journey. They remain at the nursery in Sunspear for the nonce."
One by one, he indicated his daughters. Obara was the oldest and fiercest, and Nymeria after her seemed a courtly lady. Tyene was fair, while Sarella was dusky, and the little ones greatly favored their mother.
"Pity about Arianne," Tyene, the fair one, lamented. "She so wished to join us, but Uncle Doran forbade it."
"Princess Arianne? The heir to Dorne?" Barbrey almost shrieked. "There is a limit to the number of princes and princesses I can guest under my roof. I'm afraid the entertainment will not be what it might until Domeric arrives. Last I heard, he was making his way up the Causeway, perhaps a week or two behind you."
"Pity indeed," Tyene teased. "Even Obara wept when she first heard him sing."
"I did not!" the eldest daughter denied the charge.
"Lying to others may be wise at times, but lying to oneself is unseemly," Nymeria, the courtly one, pointed out.
Obara stalked off, seething, while the other girls made mock of her. "How about some baths and a fresh change of clothes?" Barbrey suggested. "There will be a feast tonight. Might I ask if your journey was a pleasant one?"
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Lady Ellaria clutched her lover's arm. "It was agreeable. The little Crannogmen fell upon us as soon as the road started to narrow."
"Domeric's doing, no doubt." There was laughter in Prince Oberyn's voice. "He's usually a relaxed lad, but left us with a stern warning not to wander in the Neck."
"That is like him," Barbrey admitted. "Those who venture into the bogs heedlessly don't return. Mine own hunters do not dare, save with Lord Howland Reed's guides. They are fine folk, the Crannogmen, and much help with the lizard lions."
"I should like to see how the Bolton Bags are made," Sarella, the dark one, stated. She wore boy's garb and kept her dark curly hair cropped short.
It made Oberyn laugh. "Always curious, my Sarella. She's half a scholar, I'll have you know."
"Tomorrow, then," Barbrey agreed. "It takes a master leatherworker two months to make just one, not including the time it takes to tan the hides. We can make a day of touring the workshop and the tannery, if it pleases you."
"It does!" Sarella said brightly. "There really is no precedent for this, you know. In the histories, I've read mention of queens making a certain sort of dress fashionable, but never like this. Every girl in Dorne is mad for Bolton Bags. Never have I experienced such envy."
"We can speak more at the feast tonight." Barbrey turned back to Oberyn. "My Prince, mayhaps your Dornish cook and ingredients can wait until Domeric returns?"
"Aye, that would serve. The girls are looking forward to trying Northern food, aren't you girls?"
They said yes, but Barbrey thought it was just for show. Surely their plain fare must seem bland to Dornish palates.
***
"Ser Domeric told me the North was the pleasantest part of the Seven Kingdoms in summer," Prince Oberyn mentioned the next day. Barbrey was leading them down the Barrow River to the great complex built to house Alandro Solel's workshops and workers both.
"Yes," Barbrey agreed. "He often complains about the humidity around the Trident and Mander. It's a 'dry heat' in the North, as he likes to say."
They rode a bit further down the river and left the horses at the stables near the workhouse. Grooms rushed out, stumbling over each other to be the first to greet the Dornish guests. They helped the girls down from their horses, though Oberyn's daughters were fine riders and didn't need it. There was much bowing and scraping and many a "milady" spoken as they took the mounts off for a good curry and rubdown.
"Lively lads," Nymeria chuckled.
"Handsome lads," Tyene added.
"None of that now," Sarella said. "That's what got Arianne banned from coming."
Barbrey looked at Prince Oberyn for an explanation.
"Er, well..."
"Our poor princess may have engaged in a bit of loose talk," Lady Ellaria Sand said diplomatically.
"She said she was going to seduce Ser Domeric and not drink moon tea!" Tyene interjected wickedly
"Tyene." There was a warning in Prince Oberyn's voice.
"But it's true, Father! She was going to force her father's hand with Ser Domeric's baby in her belly, so he'd have to consent to them being wed, and then our dear cousin would have all the songs and bag she could wish!" Tyene looked so innocent, but every word dripped with scandalous mirth.
"His aunt is right here, you fool," Sarella whispered heatedly.
Barbrey sighed. Dornish. "It wouldn't have worked, girls. He keeps to Mordaena's bed. Domeric wouldn't lie with another woman unless they were wed first."
A fire danced in Tyene's eyes. "Good to know." She didn't look cowed at all.
"Right, well, they should be starting on next year's bags soon. We've got the best dyes good coin can buy. Our next generation shall come in diverse colors," Barbrey explained.
Sarella stopped walking instantly. "Next generation?"
"This way, dear." Barbrey led Prince Oberyn Martel, Lady Ellaria, and his daughters into the facility. One hundred men, mostly from Braavos, but a few from elsewhere, sat at one hundred benches, cutting, stitching, and assembling. A large charcoal sketch for next year's design hung on the wall.
Sarella studied the drawing carefully. "That doesn't look like our Bolton Bags. Look, you've changed the shape and the style of the clasps." She sounded almost disturbed.
"Of course we did. Every year, the Bolton Bags will be a bit different. They'll come in different colors, different designs. We hope that rich ladies will buy a new one every year."
Now Sarella really was disturbed. "That's...that's..."
"Brilliant!" Tyene declared.