The Unexpected Visitor

"I owe you an apology for doubting you." Garlan Tyrell came to stand before Alden and bowed with solemn care. "Lord Alden, your swordwork is every bit as exquisite and splendid as the rumors say. I hope it will serve House Tyrell well in the future."

With that, Garlan ordered the attendant beside him to find rooms for Alden and Joel and prepare clothing and other necessities for Alden.

Alden paused slightly when he heard Garlan's words. He could hear the implication: Garlan intended to take him as a direct man of House Tyrell.

Joel had recommended him to Vortimer. By ordinary logic, Alden should now belong under House Crane. Joel, Vortimer, and even White Village all belonged to the Cranes. As a hunter, Alden was a free man rather than a serf of Red Lake, but in every practical sense, the moment he became Vortimer Crane's squire, the prefix before his name would become Crane.

Garlan's words, however, clearly hinted that he meant to take Alden's allegiance from House Crane and make him Alden of the Tyrells. For Alden, that was unquestionably good.

Ser Vortimer Crane was a famous swordmaster in the Reach, master-at-arms of Highgarden, and sword teacher to House Tyrell. But the Crane branch to which he belonged had lost in the family's internal struggle. Now it had to reside at Highgarden. Its property consisted mostly of a manor granted by House Tyrell and some Crane holdings in Highgarden. Its status had fallen from lordly house to court nobility under the Tyrells. The most Vortimer could offer Alden was a knighthood.

House Tyrell was different. They had chosen the wrong side in Robert's Rebellion, but they had caused the stags no real harm. After Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne, he did not punish them heavily. The fact that House Tyrell still held the title of Warden of the South proved as much.

Robert's bold, martial temperament also made him respect the Tyrells for giving him trouble during the war. More accurately, he respected Lord Randyll Tarly, who had truly made him suffer, and by extension he held no particular ill will toward House Tyrell.

More importantly, House Tyrell had spent the past year using every method it could to repair relations with the Iron Throne. The effect was not perfect, but it was working. From Lord Mace Tyrell taking pains to honor the feast for Joffrey Baratheon's birth to Highgarden now sending men to the tournament celebrating the birth of the Baratheon heir, everything showed that relations between House Tyrell and the Iron Throne were improving.

With external pressure easing, House Tyrell had the energy to begin tidying the powers inside the Reach: the Fossoways of New Barrel, the Florents of Brightwater Keep, the Rowans of Goldengrove, and other ancient families that took pride in their inheritance. In such a house, there would be no shortage of chances to win merit.

Garlan's single sentence sent Alden's thoughts racing, but none of it showed on his face. He sheathed his weapons and followed the attendant with Joel toward the rooms prepared for them, rubbing the muscles in his arms to ease the soreness left by overexertion in the fight.

The duel had lasted barely more than a minute, yet it had put a heavy burden on his stamina. The sudden slowing of his movement at the end had been exactly that: his endurance failing. Vortimer had called the result a draw, but Alden knew very clearly that he had lost.

He had noticed the problem with his stamina long ago. Back in White Village, he had already begun methodically building his body and training strength. The results in such a short time had been remarkable, but even so, his endurance could not yet support a high-intensity fight. Stamina could not be built in a day or two. For a long time to come, it would remain his weakness.

While Alden considered how to make up for that flaw, the group arrived at a small detached building in the manor. The attendant placed him and Joel in two separate rooms on the second floor, asked whether they needed anything else, and withdrew.

After a while, several maids came and led the two men downstairs to the bathhouse, where they served them while they bathed.

Perhaps because Alden was in the next tub, or perhaps because Joel feared that misbehavior would damage his standing with the Tyrells, he did nothing to the maids despite the desire rising in him.

Alden was simpler still. He refused their service altogether and bathed himself according to the habits of his old life.

After the bath, Joel looked at Alden in his new clothes and teased him. "You are still a virgin, are you not? When you have time, you should try it. In this world, only good wine and beautiful women are real."

"Wine and women?" Alden gave him a flat look. "Do you mean like drinking two cups of mead and getting knocked unconscious by some street thief? Or like having women put their hands all over you just now without any reaction?"

"You rotten brat," Joel cursed, then said nothing more.

When they returned upstairs, servants had already placed food and wine on the table in Joel's room. Tyrell food needed no praise, and the wine was a fine vintage from the Arbor. Joel could not resist bringing both wine and dishes into Alden's room. Eating and drinking, in his view, were best done with more than one person.

"They did not prepare wine and food for you?" Joel asked when he found Alden's table bare.

"You forget. I do not drink. As for food, I already ate at the tavern. I do not need more."

Joel did not press him to drink. He poured himself a cup from the bottle and emptied it at once. He looked as if something weighed on his mind.

After Joel drank a second cup, Alden asked, "Did you come here only to make me watch you drink?"

Joel was silent for a moment. Then he said, without context, "Truly impressive."

Alden blinked. At first he thought Joel meant him, but he quickly realized he was wrong. Joel was speaking of someone else.

"House Tyrell became Warden of the South for a reason," Joel said with sincere feeling. "A ten-year-old child can already use little games of power without betraying the thought. You do not see that in most families. It is no wonder the Tyrells have kept the nobles of the Reach pressed so tightly for so many years."

"You are worried for House Crane's future?" Alden asked.

Joel gave him a sidelong look. "What does House Crane's future have to do with me? That is for the great men of the family to worry over. Besides, even if the Cranes who rule Red Lake now meet disaster, another branch has already been preserved. House Crane will not disappear."

"Then why are you so melancholy?" Alden asked, genuinely puzzled.

Joel only looked at him and said nothing. After a few more drinks, tipsiness seemed to loosen his tongue. Like an elder, he began warning Alden about things to remember after joining House Tyrell. Then he told him to rest well, rose, and returned to his own room. Before long, snoring came through the wall.

Joel's behavior left Alden confused. He did not understand why the man had suddenly grown sentimental, or why his attitude had become so different from the way he had acted during the journey from Goldengrove.

Then a voice spoke from the doorway. "He is seeing his former squire in you. Your temperaments and ages are similar, though your swordsmanship differs somewhat. Years ago, he sent that squire to Ser Barristan in the same way. The boy made a mistake before the Mad King and was tortured to death."

Alden's expression changed. He looked toward the door and saw an ordinary-looking old man in servant's clothes standing there. He had appeared at some unknown time.

From the old man's words, he had clearly been at the door for a while and had heard Joel's advice. Neither Alden nor Joel had sensed anyone listening outside. That alone put Alden on guard.

Joel failing to notice someone outside could be explained. But after his rebirth, Alden's senses had been strengthened beyond the ordinary. Through hearing alone, he could easily pick out every sound within twenty or thirty yards: footsteps, speech, even breathing.

Yet even with the old man standing before him, Alden could not hear his breath. It was as if the man were only an illusion.

As Alden wondered who the old man truly was, the figure hidden in the doorway's shadow said, "You need not worry. I am only a man without a name or a station. I came here to see an old friend. I should have left quietly, but your swordsmanship made me curious, so I appeared before you."

"Your friend is Joel?" Alden asked, his hand still resting on his sword hilt. The old man's lack of malice did not make him relax.

"He was an accident, as you are." The old man did not care that Alden held his sword. At the question, he only shook his head, clearly unwilling to continue on that subject. After that brief answer, he asked, "Was the teacher who taught you swordplay a master water dancer?"

"No," Alden said.

"No?" Confusion appeared on the old man's face. "Your swordsmanship is very different from a water dancer's, but your footwork while moving resembles water dancer footwork. It has been altered to suit paired blades. In Essos, very few people could make such a change. In Westeros, there is only one." He looked at Alden with grave attention. "Are you certain your teacher was not a master water dancer?"

"I am entirely certain my swordsmanship did not come from a master water dancer." Alden answered firmly. Then he looked at the old man and spoke with deliberate meaning. "Valar morghulis. Valar dohaeris. Is that water dancer your target, master of the Faceless Men?"

The old man looked at him in astonishment. He neither denied nor admitted Alden's guess. Instead, suspicion colored his voice. "If I remember correctly, Lord Alden is only an ordinary hunter. You have never left the Reach, let alone gone to Essos. How do you know of the Faceless Men of Braavos?"

Alden did not answer. He drew both swords and said, "I would very much like to see the sword arts of the legendary Faceless Men. Cross blades with me, and I will tell you where my knowledge comes from."

The old man shook his head. "If you know the Faceless Men, then you should know we kill only those marked by the Many-Faced God. You are not one of them."

As they spoke, footsteps and voices came from outside the small building. Some servants were likely arriving to clean the bathhouse below.

With others approaching, the old man lost interest in the conversation. He bowed to Alden, then withdrew into the shadows.

Alden did not stand still and watch him leave. He rushed after him, but the old man had already vanished from the doorway. With his extraordinary eyesight, Alden could still see a figure moving swiftly through a nearby tree, leaping onto the wall, then flipping over and disappearing from view.

Seeing that the old man was gone, Alden returned to his room and closed the door. He lay on the bed, but he did not sheathe his swords. He placed them within easy reach.

He had not been harmed, but the encounter had taught him a powerful lesson. The pride that had risen after his duel with Vortimer Crane vanished completely. He understood again that the world of ice and fire held many mysterious forces and unknown strong people capable of threatening him. One careless moment might mean death.

For the rest of the night, Alden kept himself half asleep and half awake, never letting his guard down until dawn.

When he heard Joel rise in the next room, Alden went to him and told him what had happened.

Joel froze at first, then seemed to think of something. His face turned ugly. He told Alden not to worry about the Faceless Man, but said nothing more.

Before leaving, however, Joel went to speak privately with Vortimer Crane for a long time. After that, the guard around Garlan Tyrell doubled, and Vortimer stayed constantly at Garlan's side, as if preventing an assassination.

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