Chapter 44 — The Lecher
The Hall of a Hundred Hearths at Harrenhal blazed with light and warmth. Over forty of its great fireplaces roared with fire, driving away the damp chill that forever haunted those ancient stones.
At the long oaken table, Lord Lyonel Strong listened intently as Prince Baelon Targaryen spoke of King's Landing—of the Grand Sept, the reforms to the Kingsguard, the codification of laws, and the development of Prince Daemon's newly granted lands. Admiration softened the old lord's weathered face, and he cast a thoughtful glance toward Daemon.
> "Prince Daemon, you are so young, yet already you show such vision and vigor," Lyonel said warmly. "I myself have long dreamed of building a town beneath Harrenhal's shadow, but the coin required is no small matter. Surely King Jaehaerys must have gifted you a handsome sum for your endeavors?"
Daemon swirled the wine in his goblet, his tone light.
> "No, my lord. The crown's coffers were not opened for me. I borrowed fifty thousand gold dragons from Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. I also hold a few modest businesses on Silk Street and in Flea Bottom."
He left unsaid that, through the Kingsguard's influence, he had seized near-total control of King's Landing's pleasure houses and gambling dens. There was no need to share every detail with Lord Strong.
Prince Baelon smiled faintly.
> "Even the Great Sept upon Visenya's Hill was largely funded by the Sea Snake's gold, offered for the glory of the crown."
At that, Lyonel Strong's expression cooled. His smile faded, replaced by a grim weight.
> "Aye… the Velaryons. Wherever a ship may sail, there flies the silver seahorse. King's Landing, Oldtown, Lannisport, Gulltown, White Harbor—even the Iron Islands and Bear Island see his sails. Now I hear his captains are plying the Trident River itself, their galleys paddling upstream from the Crab Claw to Riverrun and the Twins."
He took a slow drink.
> "There are whispers, my princes, that Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys cast their eyes upon the Iron Throne. The singers call him the richest man in Westeros and her the 'Queen Who Never Was.' Madness, all of it. A woman cannot sit the Iron Throne, nor rule the Seven Kingdoms."
Daemon smirked inwardly. Lyonel Strong's instincts, he thought, were sharper than most. The man saw the game clearly.
> "Whatever storms may come," Lyonel continued, "House Strong will remain true to King Jaehaerys and Prince Baelon. His Grace raised my family high, granting Harrenhal anew to our line. We shall not forget that kindness."
House Strong's history ran deep into the Age of Heroes, its roots entwined with the First Men. Once mighty and rich, the Strongs had risen and fallen with each tide of conquest—Andals, Storm Kings, Ironborn. Only when Aegon the Conqueror united the realm did they rise again. Osmund Strong had served Aegon as Hand of the King, overseeing the construction of King's Landing's walls.
In 73 AC, after the death of Princess Rhaena Targaryen, King Jaehaerys granted Harrenhal to Ser Bywin Strong, Lyonel's father, restoring the family to greatness.
At table that night, two small boys sat beside their lord father—Harwin Strong, eight years of age, broad-shouldered and ruddy-faced even now, and his younger brother Larys, frail and keen-eyed. Both wore fine silk cloaks, embroidered with the red, blue, and green stripes of House Strong, the colors of the Trident.
As talk turned to Lord Velaryon, young Harwin's interest quickened.
> "I don't like the Sea Snake," he said, his mouth greasy from roast duck. "He's got a captain named Gawen Waters—a shameless man! He came here to Harrenhal once, claiming kinship. Father sent him packing!"
Daemon raised a brow, amused.
> "Waters, is it? A bastard name of the Crownlands. And what kin could a bastard claim with House Strong?"
Harwin grinned.
> "He said he was the son of Lucamore the Lusty."
At that name, young Larys frowned.
> "Brother, you should not speak of Lucamore in front of princes. He is a shame to our blood."
Larys was sharper than his brother, even at seven. His tone carried quiet reproach.
Lucamore Strong—called the Lusty by cruel tongues—was among the most infamous of the Kingsguard. Sworn to celibacy, he had secretly married not one, but three women, fathering sixteen children in total, each family unaware of the others.
When his crimes were exposed, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had been horrified. The man who had stood their shield for more than a decade had betrayed his sacred vows for lust. In righteous fury, Jaehaerys ordered Lucamore gelded and sent to the Wall. His white cloak turned black, and so did his name. Years later, while ranging north of the Wall, Lucamore Strong was slain by a wildling spearwife.
At the mention, Lyonel Strong sighed heavily.
> "Lucamore is a curse on our name. He was my uncle."
He set down his cup.
> "When I was young, I won a few lances at tourneys. But every man I met—be he lord or hedge knight—would grin and ask, 'Are you of the line of Lucamore the Lusty?'"
Prince Baelon frowned.
> "A cruel jest, and an insult."
> "Indeed," Lyonel said with a rueful smile. "In my anger, I fled to the Citadel, thinking to lose the Strong name and forge a new one. But even there, I could not escape it. Archmaester Marwyn, whose chain is of bronze, pressed me for every detail—he was writing of oathbreakers, and Lucamore was his prized example."
He gave a weary chuckle.
> "So I left Oldtown and returned home. I learned that shame cannot be outrun."
Lucamore's brood had been scattered across Westeros after his disgrace. The children of his first wife were sent to Harrenhal and given to Lord Bywin to raise, their name changed from Strong to Rivers. The sons grew to be farmers and herders; the daughters wed far away.
The children of the second wife were fostered on Driftmark, renamed Waters. Among them was that insolent Gawen who had sought Lyonel's favor. The third wife's children went to Storm's End, made Storms by name—some kitchen boys, some squires.
Harwin snorted.
> "Those Driftmark bastards had no right to claim kinship! Bastards have no inheritance."
Daemon smirked.
> "Tell me, young Harwin—if a treacherous knight were to bed a princess and sire three bastards, what should become of them?"
Harwin thought a moment, earnest as only a child could be.
> "They should burn him for defiling a princess."
Daemon laughed softly, swirling his wine.
> "As you wish, lad. As you wish."
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