Chapter 159: A Meeting of Old Foes

Eddard Stark arrived with the Northern lords, offering his congratulations before Robert dragged him away for drinks, leaving the Northerners standing awkwardly on their own.

The wedding feast's organizers had long since been knocked under the table by Robert's drinking, while the Red Keep's heralds were busy attending to other guests. Jon Arryn, the aging Hand of the King, had grown so thin he resembled a walking stick. Robert had already excused him from most of his duties, ensuring he was seated with his wife, Lysa Tully.

This left only a Septon of the Faith and the Northern contingent staring at each other in silence.

"Robb! The Northern seats are this way!"

Wright spotted Robb Stark and Jon Umber, rising from his seat to call them over. Robert's drinking companions were going at it too hard, and Wright seized the opportunity to slip away with this excuse—if he stayed any longer, he'd be down for the Lord.

He nudged Nymeria into taking his place at the drinking table. Until now, he hadn't noticed, but today, after drinking an alarming amount, she was only slightly tipsy. It turned out she had a naturally high tolerance for alcohol.

The Northerners, seeing Wright, all made their way toward the left side of the hall.

"Lord Wright! It's been years, and you've grown even broader."

"Hahaha, Lady Catelyn, you look well too. Your seats are over here."

The Northern contingent was small. Once Wright led them to their seats, the serving girls immediately brought them goblets before hurrying off to attend to other guests. With Robert at the feast, things were bound to be chaotic.

Then came the Westerners. Having secured a decisive victory at the Stepstones by capturing two major islands, they were riding high and wouldn't miss the celebratory tournament. However, Jaime had conveniently fallen "ill" and returned to Casterly Rock. In his place, Tywin Lannister had sent his second son, the Imp, Tyrion.

Wright wasn't particularly familiar with the Western nobility, but he easily recognized two figures: Tyrion Lannister and Sandor Clegane, the Hound. One was a short, dwarfish man; the other, a towering brute with a half-burned face. Even without prior dealings, Wright could pick them out instantly.

He went to receive them. Today was a wedding—so long as Jaime stayed absent, Robert wouldn't complain.

"Tyrion Lannister, it's been a long time since I last saw you. The Westerners' seats are on the right; let me show you the way."

"My thanks, Lord Wright. The last time we met must have been after the victory over the Ironborn rebellion. Care to sit and share a drink?" Tyrion seemed quite interested in Wright.

"No problem. Serving girl, another cup."

Many nobles from the Westerlands had arrived. After the Lannisters were seated, more trickled in, and Tyrion took it upon himself to introduce them to Wright, occasionally sharing anecdotes about their families. The two got along well.

Next came the Riverlands contingent, none of whom Wright had met before. The one representing House Tully was a man of about six-and-twenty, of medium build, sporting a beard that gave him a rugged look, along with the signature red-brown hair of House Tully.

Tyrion leaned in. "Edmure Tully, the only son of the Lord of Riverrun."

"I heard he's still unmarried?" Wright asked.

Tyrion smirked. "The man looks honest, but he's never been short on women. For all we know, he might already have a host of bastards."

Wright chuckled. "Hahaha."

Robert, spotting the man who had almost become his brother-in-law, bellowed, "Edmure! Over here!"

"Huh?" Edmure Tully hesitated. The wedding guests hadn't even finished arriving, yet there were already several men passed out beneath the tables. He turned to look at his sister, Catelyn, who sat with her son, Robb. Eddard Stark was already at Robert's table, drinking away. Catelyn offered him a helpless smile, but Edmure felt a pang of apprehension.

Robert's drinking table had just expanded again.

After the Riverlands, the next to enter was a tall, lanky middle-aged man. His long hair and graying beard were distinctive, as was his hooked nose. Behind him followed five men of varying ages.

Their tunics bore a sigil upon their chests—a dead weirwood tree, surrounded by a flock of ravens on a black shield.

Tyrion: "That's Tytos Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, and behind him are his five sons."

Wright recalled the history books he had read at Storm's End. "House Blackwood? I remember reading about them—they were quite famous back in the day!"

Hearing mention of a woman, Tyrion perked up. "Hah! Lord Tytos has six sons and only one daughter. He treasures her like a gem, keeps her locked up in the castle, never letting her out."

Wright: "Six? But only five are here."

Tyrion: "His daughter and youngest son are too young to attend. The boy's name is also Robert."

It was common among Westerosi nobles to name their children after those they respected. Take the Freys of the Twins, for instance—their family had the most children, and by the third generation, they had sons named Robert and Stannis, and even one poor child burdened with the name Robert-Cersei-Jaime, with the youngest named Tywin. It was absolute chaos.

More noble families entered to offer their congratulations. Wright and Tyrion continued their banter until Tyrion suddenly slapped the table. "They're here! They're here!"

Wright was confused. "Who's here?"

"Look at the entrance."

Wright turned to see numerous young noblemen gazing eagerly toward the doorway.

It was still more Reachmen. This time, a middle-aged man entered, followed by five tall and stunningly beautiful young women. Each of them had a golden brooch pinned to their dresses— a golden shield bearing a crimson horse.

Tyrion: "Lord Jonos Bracken! Lordless young knights dream of pledging fealty to him, all because he has five daughters as lovely as blooming flowers!"

As Jonos Bracken led his daughters through the hall, any unmarried young man in sight stood up to greet him—even Robert's table paused their drinking.

Wright whispered to Tyrion, "Whenever someone mentions House Bracken, I immediately think of their women. They certainly have a reputation."

Tyrion chuckled. "A third of the bawdy jokes in the Seven Kingdoms are about the Bracken girls. Hahaha!"

After congratulating Renly, the Brackens passed by Wright and Tyrion on their way to the Riverlands' seating area.

"Lord Wright! Greetings!" Five melodious voices rang out in unison, forcing Wright to stand and return the courtesy.

"Good evening, ladies. Please, be seated."

Wright's head ached. Nearly every young man in the hall was staring at them, yet the five Bracken girls had ignored everyone else and greeted him specifically. This was bound to stir jealousy.

Tyrion laughed. "If you hadn't married early, half the noble girls in Westeros would be fighting each other for your hand!"

Wright stroked his handsome face and sighed dramatically. "Looking this good does come with its burdens."

The hall grew ever more crowded, and though everyone tried to keep their voices low, the combined murmurs created a cacophony. People unconsciously raised their volume—greetings, toasts, crude jokes—all blending into a lively and raucous atmosphere.

Then—BANG! CRASH!—the sound of chairs and tables being overturned rang through the hall.

"Oh!"

"A fight! A fight!"

All attention shifted to the scuffle. Weapons weren't allowed inside the Red Keep, so the three Reachmen involved were brawling with their fists.

"Kick him in the balls!"

"Go for the eyes!"

A group of onlookers, tankards in hand, cheered on the fighters. Tyrion immediately scrambled onto the table, laughing. "Hah! Blackwoods and Brackens at each other's throats again!"