Chapter 136 133

Lord Axel Arryn.

"Here, take this, it will help you feel better." With those words Myrcella set down a glass of some tincture.

A sip, a few seconds to work through the flavor, identify the components, and arrive at a sharp understanding of the drink's particular properties. I was genuinely surprised and turned a questioning look on the little princess. Myrcella was deeply embarrassed but doing her best to appear brave.

"It's so your head doesn't hurt." The girl went quite red.

Myrcella was not a child so much as a treasure. Only someone as caring as she was could think to bring me a hangover remedy at nine in the morning. The recipe was almost certainly from the Westerlands; they use honeysuckle in their tinctures quite often. Herbs at the Eyrie were kept on hand but not especially popular, and the alternatives tended to draw on local plants. Her nursemaid must have suggested it, being from the Westerlands herself.

"Thank you." It was a very sweet gesture and I had no wish to dismiss the princess's efforts.

From the outside it must have been a rather amusing picture: I had celebrated with my men in full measure. Wine had flowed freely, and every man had been determined to prove himself the undisputed champion of the evening. To the dismay of those around me, I held that title unchallenged. Given the particular nature of my constitution, the volume of drink does not trouble me, and there are no consequences the morning after. I also need no more than a couple of hours of sleep.

By four in the morning everyone had succumbed to the wine and was lying senseless. I quietly withdrew to my chambers, lay down for four hours, and went back to affairs of state. This was not the first time, and I had acquired a certain reputation among the servants and soldiers for it. Most of them saw me as a model of dedication and selflessness, forever working for the good of the Vale. Naive Myrcella simply thought I was not sleeping enough and that my head hurt, and helped as best she could. My thanks to Tyrion; clearly this is essential knowledge for an eleven-year-old girl.

"Did you brew it yourself?" Myrcella nodded. "It's good. Well done."

"I'm happy to help." The flustered princess gave a sweet smile and settled into a waiting look.

This was not the first time, and I knew perfectly well what she wanted. The princess was simply bored and wanted to feel useful by helping me. I approved of this and periodically gave her important assignments.

"Myrc, would you help me write a reply to Lord Borrell?" I asked, gesturing to the place at the desk and setting out everything she would need.

"Of course." Everyone likes to feel part of something great. Children most of all. "What should I write?"

"Write that we understand the difficulty of his situation and will do everything in our power to resolve the problem."

Lords were delighted to receive letters from the princess and future lady of the Vale, and were therefore prepared to overlook her slightly uneven handwriting, accepting any correspondence from her with pleasure, provided it bore my seal. I made use of this arrangement from time to time, and everyone was satisfied.

And so Myrcella and I sat together, until a breathless maester arrived with a letter carrying news that changed the course of the entire civil war.

...

P.S. The Vale's population was calculated by hand, based on European figures from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. To put it simply and bluntly: the size of an army runs from 0.5% to 2% of a country's total population. The Arryns could field 30,000 swords, so taking 1% gives a Vale population of three million. The mountain clans follow roughly the same logic. Tyrion brought four tribes amounting to two or three thousand people (I don't remember exactly), and there are at least seven other tribes plus any number of unknown ones, which is where those figures come from.