12 Chapter 12: Corenna Craggner I

Late 153 AC

Corenna Craggner nee Wysp, the current Lady of Cragghall, with her lordly brother alongside her, greeted the Lords Wytch and Windhill as they entered her keep in force. None of their own troops made to draw a weapon, being heavily outnumbered at this point, and immediately, bread and salt were offered. Thankfully, the men accepted, and the tension in the yard eased as they ventured into the main hall, escorted by far more of their own men than was likely necessary.

This was a dangerous plan by her brother, but one she saw the merit of. The parlay to settle matters before Royce Baratheon could arrive and place all the blame upon her, rather than her late lord husband and his illborn son, was paramount to her security and the honor of their houses. The gall of Roland Storm, according to her brother, to be thinking of throwing her out of Cragghall, her home for the past five and ten years, before he'd succumbed to his wounds, it aggravated her to no end. She'd barely tolerated his presence in the first place, and feared he might convince his father to expel her before she could conceive. Yet her late lord husband had been thankfully deaf to such talk, confident he could have Lord Baratheon legitimize his bastard and still keep his lovely younger wife for his bed. As it was, alas, Lord Craggner had been suffering from 'issues' in the bedroom for nearly the entirety of their marriage, ever since the passing of his first wife on the birthing bed years before, though none dared talk about either. Thus they'd had no children, despite her wishes for it, and while their last time together had been his departure to attack Lord Wytch's lands, she doubted it would take this time.

Now, with both her faithless husband and his impetuous bastard dead, she ruled the Craggner lands in name, but that could change if negotiations were to sour fast. As Lords Wytch and Windhill entered what was now her solar, she took stock of the two men before her.

Lord Windhill was no longer the handsome man he was reported to have been in his youth, though he still carried with him a sort of charisma that had survived the years. Older, graying and balding in spots, he was still muscular, though not too much, and the slight shake of his hands that he tried to hide told her he was suffering from some sort of palsy.

Having seen those shakes before in her own father, she believed he would be dead in under five years.

Lord Wytch, on the other hand, was a conundrum. Young by the standards of a woman who had been married at barely eight and ten to her late husband, he couldn't have been more than four and ten, yet was as tall as Lord Windhill, and likely to grow even taller. Rather muscled for his age, with Valyrian eyes mismatched against his dark hair, and just the barest bit of stubble beginning to form on his face, fuzz if anything, he both seemed a man, and yet a boy.

The boy reminded her of her father, in a way, and as she glanced at her brother, a knowing look was shared between them.

Yes, this could work.

"Lord Wysp, Lady Craggner nee Wysp, I thank you for this chance to end the hostility between our houses. Squabbling amongst one's neighbors will always be a detriment to one's security and safety, no matter the strength they wield," the young Wytch said.

"I concur," Lord Wysp said softly. "Before we begin, I must ask, what has become of Lord Craggner? Before his passing from his wounds, young Roland told us he had died."

"Indeed he did, my lord, we have his body with us, for a proper burial," Lord Windhill said. "I would not recommend looking upon it, my lady, the lord was felled by Casper's lance, and then trampled by a great number of horses."

"It would make no difference to me if he returned in one piece or several, my lord husband is dead," she replied. "My thanks to the gods for assisting your weapon in ending his miserable life. Were it not for his blatant disregard for the laws of men and gods when they did not serve him best, none of these foul things would have occurred. On behalf of both houses, Wysp and Craggner alike, I do offer my sincerest condolences."

"Which I graciously accept, though my curiosity is aroused by your platitudes," Lord Wytch said.

"I recently discovered evidence of plot most foul, Lord Wytch. My husband, it would seem, was fairly certain he would be granted a portion of the old Stormhill lands, for the long service his family had given. Yet it had not been done so, and after your grandsire's sacrifice earned your father Morden the lands and title, it most certainly gave my husband ill will towards the Wytch name. Long did he stew in his envy, which only grew and became more evident at the sudden successes in your lands beginning several years ago."

"Would this be about the time we adopted our crop rotation methods?" the boy lord asked. "About five years ago?"

"Indeed, and seeing such an increase in wealth and prosperity ate away at my late husband's self-control near as much as the loss of gaining such lands had. I fear that he became resentful of the success of your father, and by extension, your family, in lands he viewed would have brought him that same success had he been granted them. Combined with his own inability to sire a legitimate heir, he grew increasingly bitter about his situation in life, placing the blame almost entirely on your family and house." He thankfully had never raised his hand to her, for if he had, he most certainly would have not survived the night.

"I too find my curiosity piqued by your words. What did you find?" Lord Windhill asked.

"Remnants of missives between him and his bastard, of choosing how to 'end the problem' that 'plagued' House Craggner. While cryptic, after looking through and comparing them, there can be no doubt that he was the one who arranged the assassination of your father Morden, and not bandits. I am truly sorry that I did not discover such evidence sooner, for I would have gladly turned it over to you and Lord Baratheon during his investigation."

The boy nodded politely, though from the clenching of his jaw, she'd struck a nerve. All reports indicated the boy had and honored loved his father as a good heir should, his filial piety being second only to his apparent intelligence.

"May I see this evidence?"

"Certainly," her lord brother replied, motioning to one of their attending servants. "The maester will have them, boy, fetch them for Lord Wytch."

The boy left, the pause giving Lord Windhill the opening he was apparently waiting for. "While we wait," he said, "now would be a good time to begin our negotiations, wouldn't you agree, Lord Wytch?"

"Indeed," the young lord said. "I am offering a choice that the men we captured be ransomed back at five gold dragons apiece, though their weapons, armor and supplies will not be, claimed as loot by my forces. The cost of the supplies used to treat their wounds and the food used to feed them thus far has been calculated into this price."

"How many still live?"

"As of now, one hundred exactly. There were more, but several were killed in an attempted escape, and others that had survived died of their wounds."

"A total of five hundred gold dragons, a large sum for men with no titles of their own," Lady Craggner said, biting back a hiss of dismay. While not a rich house by any means, she had the coin for it, but it would severely drain her coffers. "A knight alone might be worth three hundred dragons, possibly more if they are of noble stock."

"Well, none of the few knights with Craggner lived through the battle," Lord Wytch replied. "Do you accept this offer?"

"I do," she replied after a moment's pause.

"As for the villages damaged or destroyed from the raids, I will seek restitution to rebuild them to a greater standard than what they had been. Overall losses have totaled near five hundred dragons, the price of which includes butchered livestock, burnt homes, ruined roads and the cost of replacing the barns containing the previous harvests, as well as those harvests themselves."

"Were fields burnt?"

"Given the recent rainstorm in the area, the fields were as of yet too wet to burn, so any damage to them had been negligible, and thus I have decided to not include that in the cost."

"I can accept the additional five hundred dragons, as part of my own restitution," Lord Wysp said.

"Do you also speak for Lords Galewood and Greycairn?" Lord Windhill asked.

"Aye, they've given me the right to represent them in this matter."

"Then they may pay the same, or if forgoing the cost, speak with Lord Baratheon on the matter. As it stands, however, we come to the final issue to settle, and that is the lands of House Craggner itself."

"I am willing to part with several villages along our borders, and the lands therein, to achieve a peaceful settlement," Lady Craggner said.

"I will have no lands added to my own, my lady," Lord Wytch said. "It seems a tad distasteful to cede lands under what should have been the Kings Peace, and even though I was not the one to break it, I find no reason to seize lands I have no claims to. Instead, I am more interested in the output of your mines. I am unfamiliar with what House Craggner produces from the foothills near the mountains."

"We mostly mine tin, but a great deal of coal has been unearthed recently."

"As recompense, rather than a monthly sum of gold or any sort of hostage, as you are technically the last member of the house, my lady, I will take thirty percent of your entire coal output, at no cost."

"Fifteen," she countered. "Even if it not mined too much, it still provides a good source of fuel for some of our forges, and we have need of those."

"Thirty percent. I am being rather generous."

"Twenty."

"Twenty five, or we'll discuss the matter with Lord Baratheon."

She bit back a scowl. Only a tad lower than he'd originally offered, but still much higher than she was willing to give. Yet, what could she do? "I can accept twenty five, but I will need time to establish the means of exporting it. Our roads to your lands are not so developed as to be up and available for use in an instant."

"Which is why I will begin taking biweekly shipments at the beginning of the next year," Lord Wytch replied. "That should be more than enough time to prepare things on your end."

"Is there anything else you wish to add?"

"No," the boy lord said. "Anything further will fall under the responsibility of our liege lord. Until he arrives, as he is likely to do to put an end to the mess we find ourselves in, let us settle the matter for now. I've no desire to haggle longer than necessary to reach a fair settlement."

"I concur," Corenna Craggner said. "I would, however, wish to extend to you the courtesy of staying the night in my humble home, or longer, if you would so wish. Your journey here has likely been long and tiring, and I would be a poor host to immediately see you off, rather than giving you rest."

"I see no reason to deny such an offer," Lord Windhill said. "What say you, Lord Wytch?"

"I would be honored to spend the night," the boy lord said, as the servant returned with a small stack of parchment and handed it over.

Perfect.

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SI POV VII

The accommodations were fitting, though the bathwater was a bit warmer than I'd have liked. Still, as I lay in the large tub, the feeling of euphoria I'd been slowly losing control over finally washed over me, filling me with a sense of accomplishment I'd not felt since I'd shown my father the benefits of the 'Stormhall' crop rotation.

I'd done it, I'd won! My first battle, albeit a very small one, along with my first war, albeit a very small one as well. My neighbors would be sending me recompense for their actions, even if I suspected they had done more, and my prestige for decisively ending a conflict during the Kings Peace would go a long way across the Stormlands, perhaps even further if I played my cards right. My Lord Baratheon was likely on his way to my seat with all due haste, perhaps even Cragghall, to ensure this conflict had truly ended, and to exact a price from Wysp and the other lords.

Yet even as I reveled in my victory, my mind wandered back to the horizon, to the upcoming war for Dorne, as I found it often did these days. With the beginning of the next year, I would have three years to prepare. Three years to train, three years to develop my lands to where they could support a larger force than normal, be it through food, medicine, weapons, armor, you name it.

I'd already begun my increased production of food years ago, and barring some sort of blight or horrible storms, I was set to only increase its production as more and more farmland was developed and put under the plow. Lord Windhill's lands would also be greatly increasing production, meaning the two of us might be able to supply enough men as to not only gain recognition for it, but to also keep the Dornish rebellion from going as poorly as it had in our region.

Then again, I've made waves already that I can never, ever truly appreciate the scope of. Who was to say the Lord Craggner wouldn't have done some great things in the war, or his bastard? What of Lord Windhill and his granddaughter? Might she have been married to another lord, perhaps even Craggner's son? What of Dorne itself? Would the region stay relatively united against the Crown until the marriage of Daeron II? Or would they fracture amidst the changes I've made, and will continue to make?

It made my heart ache to worry so, even with its importance, and pushing it aside with great effort, I focused on the other things I could control, here and now. Namely, the innovations and changes I have already accomplished, much like in the stories I'd read half a lifetime ago, and ones I have yet to attempt or consider.

Many I've decided to remain untried, the printing press, the steam engine, batteries, gunpowder, I've no use for these, and Westeros is no more ready for these than I am of creating them. I've the longbowmen already in the Stormlands, though few under my personal banner, and making my own would have been best begun by my father as soon as he'd been named a lord. I've no need for a large standing army, a smaller professional retinue being less likely to draw ire and suspicion. With the Windhill lands attached to my own through marriage, I'll have more than enough lands to focus on, as expanding too quickly would be the end of my house as easily as a sword or sickness.

I consider myself a fairly empathetic individual, even if I've begun to adopt the far more brutal mindset of a Westerosi lord, and likely will continue to do so. Spreading my inventions and ideas would indeed bring greater prosperity to Westeros, but at what cost? How many lives would be irrevocably altered that could spell disaster for peace?

For example, I've a rough idea of how to work glass, but therein lies dangers untold. The North with glass gardens would grow stronger, but I doubt many other places would use them for such a purpose. Bottles would lead to wine becoming a far different drink, as would my brandy and other spirits in production, but threatening that monopoly of the Myrish would see me earn their ire faster than trying to commit suicide by throwing myself into an active volcano. I'd no doubt they would send assassins after me, were I to develop glassmaking techniques they didn't know, or believed to be secret.

Yet enough of those worries. I'm four and ten, and barring some unseen butterflies, I've just over three full years until the war for Dorne begins. Plenty of time to secure my lands, secure my power, grow my prestige, and further develop the future for my family. My sisters would not be of marriageable age for a good few years, meaning I could work out good betrothals for them in the meantime.

There was a knock at the door. Curious, my guards were unlikely to let anyone in, unless they were amongst the few people I'd told them to allow access. "Come in," I called, readjusting myself so the water covered me better. I'd brought my own soap, so the water was a bit bubbly, likely a first in Cragghall.

Lady Craggner nee Wysp entered, dressed rather demurely, though clearly not in the clothes of a lady in mourning.

I was not prepared for what she had to say.

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Stormlanders VII

Lord Royce Baratheon was not an upset man.

Nay, he was fucking livid. The famous Baratheon/Durrandon rage was barely being held in check by the time he'd marshalled his retinue and whatever local knights were on hand, making all due haste towards his western vassals. This would not stand, not with such a prestigious opportunity at his very fingertips.

Being considered to foster a prince of the realm was no laughing matter, even if some of the details meant he'd be spending time with a lesser vassal for months on end. Many fostering relationships took on fatherly or favorite uncle undertones, while fellow fostered sons would become good friends, or in rare cases, like brothers. Such a potential boon to the future of the Stormlands, by having the friendship and possible ear of the future king's brother? Other lords had killed for less advantageous connections. Such a possibility could not be jeopardized by the prideful acts of an ignorant buffoon like Lord Craggner.

To think Craggner had once asked him to legitimize his bastard boy Roland. Hah! That little shit, no matter his skill on a horse or with a sword, wasn't fit to clean the boots of a hedge knight, let alone assume the role as heir and eventual lord of a house as old and storied as Craggner.

Arriving at the edges of the Craggner lands, he was relieved to find no burnt-out villages or destroyed farms. Lord Wytch and his family had been through a terrible amount of shit in a very short amount of time, and he'd feared the young boy, as smart as he was, would have overreacted from all of these piled injustices. Craggner had underestimated the Wytch family once, and he feared he'd arrive to find Cragghall a smoking ruin, with everyone within butchered and atop pikes as a warning to others.

Yet as he reached the seat of House Craggner, he found no such destruction. The smallfolk continued on their lives, though as he approached, a small group of men in mixed livery raced out to meet him. He immediately noticed their sigils, Galewood, Wysp, Windhill and Greycairn, led by a Wytch captain. Just what were they all doing together?

"Lord Baratheon," the lead man said, giving the proper bow as best he could from horseback. "It is good that you have arrived."

"Where is Lord Craggner?" he asked.

"Dead, my lord," the Craggner man said. "Killed in battle."

"His bastard Roland?"

"Dead as well, from wounds sustained from the same battle that claimed Lord Craggner."

"So only his lady wife remains," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Come on, let's get this over with. Is Lord Wytch still within the castle?"

"He and Lord Windhill both, along with our respective lords," the Windhill man said. "They've assembled in the great hall."

"To hope to receive a lighter punishment, no doubt," he mumbled, his far larger retinue following his lead along the winding wagon tracks leading through the Cragghall walls and into its courtyard. Outside, Lady Craggner alone stood to greet him, bread and salt being offered even as his squire grabbed the reins of his horse upon dismounting.

"My lord paramount," she said politely, curtseying. "I bid you welcome to Cragghall."

"Aye," he replied, accepting the offering. "Were it so easy that greeting me were to absolve you of the sins committed against the Stormlands and the Kings Peace."

"No sins have been committed, my lord, by myself at least," she said, standing. "Yet it is not untrue that a great deal of sins have been committed, by my late lord husband and his illborn whelp."

His curiosity aroused, he and his men followed her into the great hall, to find the tables and chairs had been arranged like those of a great conference, Lords Wytch and Windhill in a deep discussion whilst others seemed to be waiting for him.

"His Lordship, Royce Baratheon!" a crier called, and all stood at attention, giving their bows even as some of their men scurried away, out of sight and out of his path.

"My lords," he grumbled, his anger soothed by the resigned fear in the room, specifically from the three lords across from young Wytch. "I've been forced to come here in the midst of a matter most important, to House Baratheon and to the Stormlands itself, one that could see us secure for generations to come. Now, just what the fuck happened, and what am I going to have to do about it?"

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Lord Windhill was most pleased with himself as he rode away from Cragghall, though still a bit terrified. Lord Baratheon, for a man far younger than he was, having been born a mere week after the death of his Baratheon father, was near the spitting image of the man, and he'd remembered witnessing that Baratheon rage all too well from his younger days.

The Lords Greycairn, Galewood and Wysp had received the brunt of it, questions of their amassing of troops during peacetime and refusal to interceded on behalf of keeping the Kings Peace had nearly seen his lord paramount begin throwing things. Lady Craggner had received a harsh few words, but scant more than that, and after being shown the evidence of Lord Craggner's planning and wrongdoing, Lord Baratheon had indeed thrown a chair against a far wall hard enough to smash it to bits.

Lord Wytch, by his own side the entire time, had been fairly quiet, remaining calm before this storm of his lord's fury. When rounded upon, the boy had told the matter as it had been, in great detail, with his own observations serving as corroborative evidence in this mess. They'd been far less inclined to give greater cause for their lord to rage, and truthfully, enough had been said to determine the resulting punishments.

The three border lords had been ordered to pay the five hundred dragons to Lord Wytch, as per the agreement beforehand, and had almost lost lands to the boy lord before Casper had intervened on their behalf. Somehow he'd managed to convince his lord that he needed no more land, content with what he had, and would prefer to arrange an equitable arrangement with his neighbors, to both bring an end to possible ill feelings and to foster a great deal of trust and mutual benefits between them. For such a young man, Casper had a silver tongue when needed, and even though Lord Baratheon had somewhat berated the lad for it, he'd agreed to the resulting proposals.

Each lord, to the best of their ability, was to supply Lord Wytch with goods or resources from their lands at a very, very reduced rate, some of them being practically free. In exchange, Lord Wytch would not pursue the issue, letting it fall to the wayside, and provide a service to the lords, as unlike Lord Craggner, they had not wronged him so much as to be unforgiveable, and as Casper said, he wished to be a good neighbor even in times like these.

Personally, he believed Casper to be plotting something for the future, for he was yet young, and had plenty of time to amass the means of exacting some kind of revenge. The other lords likely knew it too, given the length of their private deliberations, but could not decline such a generous offer, lest they be seen as both ungrateful and cowardly.

Lord Wysp, whose lands were mostly open, save for the scattered forests that broke up and delineated the boundaries of his few towns and villages, was to supply Lord Wytch with the horses needed to begin his own herds. Brackens they were not, but the Wysps had better horses than most of their neighbors, being so close to both the Reach and Dorne and having a long history as breeders in the region. Many of their horses were closer to Dornish ones, given their lighter build, but were still far larger and robust than those waifish racers.

In exchange, Lord Wytch would build a road from the edge of their territory, leading from his own lands and ending at their border to the west, passing by and connecting with their seat. The estimated time would be near three years, barring supply issues. The cost of the road would fall entirely to House Wysp, however, though the first half of the food would be provided by Lord Wytch, the rest being supplied by House Wysp after the road had reached their hall.

Lord Galewood, whose lands were primarily hilly forests and the rugged slopes of the Red Mountains, would provide lumber, specifically pine, at a quarter the usual prices. The man had been rather adamant that taking so many trees would devastate his forests, to which Lord Wytch agreed, stating that they need not take all the same large trees from the same areas, nor the same kinds of large pines. Instead, he would accept near any species of large pine, save for the redwoods that grew in the lower valleys, which he said would serve the forests better than they would him.

Lord Wytch would build no road for Lord Galewood, given the density of most of his forests meaning the cost would be likely triple what it normally would be, but would instead use his engineers to construct far larger and better bridges over the numerous rivers in the area, for ease of access for overland movement, so as to not impede the river barges along the more major tributaries. Once more, House Galewood would pay for everything, but Lord Wytch would supply the food entirely, citing the lord's lack of suitable farmlands to sustain both his own people and Lord Wytch's as well. He'd offered to improve the farms, but Lord Galewood had declined, stating the bridges were more than enough for the time being.

Lord Greycairn, lastly, had far less to give than the others had. His house had been known for their skirmishers, mostly with javelins and spear throwers, but upon closer inspection, they did have a great number of quarries, mostly for the different stones they exported. Among these were marble and limestone, the latter of which Lord Wytch had decided he would prefer. Thus, House Greycairn would supply nearly three quarters of their limestone production, to be expanded as well, to House Wytch, alongside enough marble to aid in completing the construction of the Sept of Lowhill.

Funnily enough, given their long history with masons and stone in general, they had no need for Lord Wytch to build them roads, most of theirs being made of large laid stones that ran from their seat to the edges of their borders. Instead, Lord Wytch would oversee the development of their few farmlands, whose extra produce would feed his experienced farmers assigned to oversee the improvements.

All in all, given what could have happened, a far fairer deal than most other lords would have received. Each of Lord Wytch's neighbors would receive something worthwhile, but they would be paying 'through the nose to get it' as Lord Wytch had said. Just as well, as part of compensation for his involvement, the Windhill treasury would be receiving an additional three hundred dragons from each lord, House Craggner included, and a large shipment of amber from Wysp and Galewood alike.

The discussion between Lord Baratheon, Lord Wytch and Lady Craggner nee Wysp had been nowhere near as long, the last one in fact before they'd left. In addition to all agreements already in place, there'd been a moratorium on raising any additional forces for House Craggner, should it still exist by then, for three years, beginning at the start of the next year. The reason for the small delay was simply because Lady Craggner had said her husband had lain with her before his departure, and she would wait to see if his seed had finally taken. If she began to show within a few turns of the moon, and then successfully carry the child to birth, House Craggner would continue. If she did not, or she appeared to quicken far, far later than her husband's seed could have possibly allowed for, she would leave the hall and return to her brother's keep, the lands passing to Lord Baratheon's total control.

Lord Wytch had been vocal in allowing the Craggner legacy this last chance, much to his surprise. He'd have been less liable to let a house continue to live if it had done him so much wrong, but given the death of Craggner and his illborn son, this was the only chance for House Craggner to both continue and regain some of its honor.

Turning to young Casper, the sun high above them as they made their way with their men back towards Wytch lands, he noted a curious look on the boy lord's face. One of subtle dread, as if worrying about something that had not yet happened.

"Lord Wytch?" he asked, startling the boy, who must have been deep in thought.

"Yes, Lord Windhill?" he replied.

"Something on your mind?"

"I, um… yes," he said. "This business with Lady Craggner and the others, I am glad it is behind us, but I still feel… uneasy about it all. It is through hindsight that we always ask if there is more than we could have done, or if there were decisions we made that we should not have, in the heated passions of anger or triumph. Every action we take, every choice, will have consequences, and I do worry if what I did was for the best."

"Aye, most lords will look back to their decision and wonder what could have been different, but if we look to often to what has happened, and not what is to come, we may find ourselves lost. Take it from an old man, you are still not yet in your majority, none should expect you to bear the weight upon your shoulders that you have been since Morden's death. Both he and your family, yourself included, should rest easy from now on, now that his killer has been brought to justice, thank the Seven."

"Yes, yes, he should, we all should," the boy lord muttered. "I thank you again, Lord Windhill, and apologize that my earlier scheming did nothing to stop Craggner's actions."

"Aye, but he likely had it coming," he replied. "You can only spit in the faces of the gods for so long before they return the favor sevenfold."

"Aye, true, that is true." With that, they sat in silence as they rode on, this ugly business finally behind them, and brighter future for both of their houses just over the horizon.