Chapter Text
Chapter 1
The Reach, 289AC
Willas Tyrell
"Don't run off too far," Willas admonished, though his tone carried little heat. His siblings only giggled back at him and scampered off deeper into the woods, the forest floor crunching loudly beneath their boots.
Willas didn't begrudge their brashness. He liked seeing them being children, careless of the confining propriety and protocol of Highgarden. Near the Mouth of the Mander as they were, and still in lands controlled by House Tyrell, they would be hard-pressed to find anyone dangerous enough to challenge the two guards walking behind him; or any game big enough to harm children this close to the village they had docked their family's pleasure barge at.
He had wanted to request more men to accompany them on their little expedition, as a precaution more than anything, but with him being a near-knighted squire, he didn't want to sound unsure of his ability to protect his younger siblings. Mace Tyrell had high hopes for his son as a knight. He had pushed the squireship on Willas since he was a young boy; it wouldn't do for him to seem cowardly in front of his lord father now.
Following only close enough so he could watch them, Willas ambled through the brush at a leisurely pace, carefully picking his steps on the uneven ground brimming with jutting roots and prickling briars. The wood was filled with towering oaks, elms and leatherleaf, and the undergrowth was dense and rich with pale moonblooms, tall stalks of goldenrod and blood red clutches of dragon's breath.
It had been the flowers that convinced Margaery and Loras to go off exploring.
At his side, Garlan shadowed him with a look of stiff determination on his face, as if he were another men-at-arms in their little group and not his brother. Despite being two years younger, he was nearly as tall as him, wider yet on the shoulders, and his once plump figure had thinned out with training.
Ever since Willas was made to squire for Ser Addam Bridges, one of their family's many household knights, Garlan had taken to following his older brother like he was Willas' own squire, and even now he walked with a hand tucked on his belt just as Willas did on the hilt of his sword, though the boy was not yet allowed to carry live steel at only one-and-ten.
The sun was still low in the east, but the cloudless sky promised heat and sweat throughout the rest of the day. Willas had enough lessons on the importance of forethought and planning from his grandmother, even in the simple things, so he took off his dark green velvet coat and wrapped the sleeves about his waist. It left only a white doublet emblazoned with the blooming flower of his house to cover his chest.
A faint breeze was gusting through the trees from the north; the air carried the strong smell of wildflowers and wet earth. The smell of summer.
They walked in silence after Margaery and Loras for several more minutes before he heard a cracking sound somewhere off in the distance. He paused when he heard it again only a few moments later.
"What's that?" he asked, suddenly growing nervous. The sound echoed through the forest again.
"Someone's splitting logs nearby is all, m'lord," Ben said behind him. Lorne seemed to agree, giving him a grunt and a nod.
Willas took a moment to realize what that meant and nodded to the guards. He turned about until he caught sight of his siblings off to his right, frolicking near a patch of black elderberry flowers. They laughed as they blew on the petals and set them to float in the air around them.
"Margaery! Loras!" he called with his lordly voice. "Come here!"
Pouting, the youngest Tyrells shuffled their feet until they stood before him. Loras' own velvet coat was creased and fraying at the sleeves, and Margaery's bright yellow dress was caked with mud near the hemline. Willas could only imagine their grandmother's incoming admonishment.
"Do we have to leave already?" Loras whined.
"No, not yet," he said. He turned to where the sound of cracking wood was coming from and put a hand on Loras' shoulder, steering him in the right direction. "We're going on a little adventure. Come."
"Truly?" Margaery asked, her golden-brown eyes wide and innocent.
"Truly, dear sister," he said. She held out a small hand, and he took it on his own before setting off. He looked back at Garlan and the two guards following him and said, "Mind yourselves now."
Soon, the crack of metal on wood grew louder and clearer. As they drew nearer, the dense undergrowth thinned around them, until the canopy above finally opened up to clear blue sky. Beyond, a young man only a few years older than him stood over a tree stump not a stone's throw away from them, a woodsman axe in his hands and a pile of split logs beside him.
Focused on his task as he was, the young woodsman placed another piece of firewood on the flat of the stump without noticing them, raised his axe high above his head, and swung down. The log split in half cleanly, and the axe bit into the stump with a resounding thunk.
Loras drew a sharp breath, and the young man finally looked up from his work.
At first glance, Willas had to admit the man was striking—black-haired, tall, sharp and slender as a sword; and, most surprising, he had the violet eyes of Old Valyria. He wore a simple workman's shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with an open leather jerkin on top and roughspun brown pants.
The young man gazed at the men-at-arms escorting them with suspicion, though his eyes softened when passing over Willas' young siblings. Behind him, the guardsmen had tensed, hands reaching swords, until he raised a hand to stop them.
Willas cleared his throat. "Forgive us the interruption, good man," he said. "My name is Willas of House Tyrell, son of Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden. These are my younger brothers and sister, Garlan, Loras, and Margaery." He pointed to each of them in turn. "We were passing by when we heard you."
Before the man could respond, Margaery stepped forward and excitedly asked, "Is that your home?"
Willas followed her gaze to the far end of the clearing, where a sturdy-looking house built with thick logs for walls and a thatched roof stood above a low hill, surrounded by a field of short, emerald-colored grass. Two smaller outhouses leaned against the log house, with pigs and chickens inside them.
The man smiled gently at Margaery. "Indeed, that is where I live, my lady," he said, looking back at the house with fondness. His voice was deep and smooth, cultured in a way Willas had never heard coming from peasants. The man turned back to them and bowed, an act he seemed equally practiced in, though stiff with disuse. "An honour to make your acquaintances, my lords. My name is Galadedrid of… well, here. But you may call me Galad."
An odd name, Willas thought. Essosi, perhaps? Keeping the question from showing on his face, Willas simply nodded. "The honor is ours… Galad. And forgive my sister, she's always been too curious for her own good."
Margaery glowered sullenly at him, but Galad only waved a hand. "It is no trouble, my lord. Inquisitiveness in the young is a virtue, not a sin."
Willas smiled despite himself. His father would have named it intrusiveness instead—and called it uncouth and boorish behavior on top, especially for a lady, but Willas found himself agreeing nonetheless.
"Would you like to try?" Galad suddenly asked, and the question was not for him. To his side, Loras just bobbed his head up and down as if in a trance. The man chuckled, and even Garlan cracked a smile. "Come on, then. I'll teach you how." For a second, he turned his eyes to Willas, as if to seek permission.
Inclining his head, Willas relinquished his hold on Loras' shoulder. The boy bounded out the tree line at once, skidding to a stop next to the violet-eyed woodsman. And for the next few minutes, Galad taught Loras everything he needed to know until he could split a log by himself, from where to grip the haft, how to breathe at the right moments, where to hit the wood.
Willas had hardly seen such a patient teacher, even when Loras got ahead of himself several times in his boundless energy. As the minutes and logs ticked by, Willas allowed himself to relax, sitting back against the tree to watch the two of them. Garlan followed soon after, taking the next tree over.
Besides their guards, Margaery was the only one still standing, staring at the pair splitting the logs with longing. As if feeling her eyes on him, Galad glanced up from his work. "Do you want to try as well?" he asked.
The girl nodded shyly, but didn't move forward. It was obvious she wanted to, but all sense of propriety told otherwise
After a moment's hesitation, Willas said, "Go on, Margaery. Just this once."
Her eyes widened in surprise, then the biggest smile bloomed on her face. She lunged at him, gave him a tight hug, and dashed back toward Galad and Loras.
"Willas?" Garlan asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"It's fine," he said. "Let her have this. She's already a proper lady everywhere else, even at her age."
Garlan nodded, and they kept silent as their brother and sister worked on the pile under Galad's supervision.
xxx
Willas had nearly dozed off when the final log had been split, his siblings excited cheers pulling him out of his daydreams. Chuckling at their antics, he pushed off the tree and walked up to them, Garlan just a step behind him. Both of the kids were caked with sweat, chips of wood sticking to their clothes. But the big smile on their faces made it worth it.
"Are you all done, then?" he asked.
Loras quickly darted to his side. "Did you see it, Willas?" he asked, pulling at his sleeves. "I was like ha! and the log went clack!. That last one was perfect!"
Willas laughed. "I did, yes. As great a swing as I've seen." He mussed up his brother's hair, then turned to his sister. "And you, little lady, don't think I didn't see the way you were holding up that axe like a proper Ironborn."
Margaery had been jumping up and down on the balls of her feet a moment ago, but now she was back to her demure smiles. "Master Galad had to help me holding it up," she said, "but I did do it." The ladylike expression was broken by the tangles in her hair and the flush on her cheeks.
Willas could only smile. It was good seeing her acting like a child. As the two of them started relaying their war stories to Garlan, he turned his eyes to the woodsman.
"Thank you for this," he said, perfectly sincere. "It meant a lot to them."
Galad nodded, wiping sweat off his brow. "No problem at all, my lord. They are good children." He looked up at the glaring sun for a moment before turning back to him. "It is getting rather hot outside, and I have clearly forgotten my manners. Would you like to come inside for some refreshments? I'll carry the logs back later."
"Yes!" Margaery cried, suddenly right behind him, followed by Loras turning to him, eyes pleading. "Can we, Willas? Can we please?"
Willas couldn't find it in himself to refuse those eyes. He should've known better than to name whatever this was as an adventure. "I don't see why not," he said. "Lead the way, Master Galad."
The walk up the small hill was done with Loras and Margaery piling the young woodsman with inane questions about his life, from what he ate and drank, to the animals he raised and the kinds of people in the village he was friendly with. The kids seemed fascinated by it all. Galad answered them dexterously and amiably, and Willas had to admit he also found himself curious.
Despite visiting a few of the orphanages and motherhouses that Highgarden sponsored, he had never been inside the home of a smallfolk. Willas doubted his family would approve, but he found himself curious as to how they lived. He was to be their future lord, shouldn't he know more about his subjects?
The inside of the cabin was better than what Willas imagined. It didn't stink, nor did it look particularly bedraggled. He quietly admonished himself for that. These are people, not pigs. Of course they would keep their own homes tidy.
The house was brightly lit by several windows with their shutters open. A large stone fireplace occupied one side of the main room, with two cushioned chairs and a bench arrayed around it, while a broad table dominated the other. Cabinets and trunks lined the walls, neatly stacked and cleaned, and Willas even saw a small pile of wood-bound books tucked against a bundle of furs. Tall, sturdy chairs sat around the table, and to the side, a closed door led to a smaller room. Galad's bedroom, most likely.
Their host had them seated with drinks in hand before long, fresh milk for the children and cider from a small cask for himself, Garlan, and Willas. He even invited Ben and Lorne to sit at his table, though the two kept to their duties standing. They didn't pass on the cider, however, drinking from two horns Galad provided.
One of the windows opened to the back of the house, and Willas spotted another building he hadn't seen from their approach. A modest wooden barn, only large enough for a couple of animals. Tucked to its side was a garden of sorts, and though Willas' preferences lay mostly in martial pursuits, he knew from Highgarden's own plentiful terraces that there were rows of cabbage, beet, peas, and onion there.
"Do you plant them yourself?" Margaery asked. She had been staring out too, eyes wide with wonder. Loras craned his head around to check with her.
Galad chuckled. "Indeed, my lady. I plant, raise, and hunt what I can. What I cannot, I trade for in the village."
"You're allowed to hunt around here?" That was Garlan, genuine in his curiosity.
Willas answered him, "Dustonbury sits empty for now, and our lord father has allowed for hunters to use the woods around a few of the villages to their heart's content."
For all his faults, Mace Tyrell was not an unkind lord. The Reach had flourished under his rule, and so had its people. Although, in truth, most of those accolades could be put at the feet of Willas' grandmother.
Galad nodded. "That he has," he said. "These woods are teeming with good game. Plenty of white-tailed deer, elk and wild boars. And some small game too."
"You are good with a bow, then?" Garlan asked, leaning forward on his seat. Much like him, Garlan was fascinated by anything related to knighthood. The boy was already better than many a squire older than him, and Willas knew that in another few years it would be him his brother would surpass.
Galad didn't answer right away. He took his time sipping at his drink, and for a moment there he looked almost forlorn, lips pursed, eyes distant. "I had great teachers," he finally said, breaking the silence. Suddenly realizing his own mood, Galad cleared his throat and gave Garlan a small smile. "You must be good with the bow to live as a hunter, my lord. It is a simple life, yes, but a good one. I have come to appreciate it."
Before Willas could ask how he had come to appreciate being a hunter if he had always been one, there were loud, shouting voices outside. At first he thought it was his father's men come looking for them, a misunderstanding he could easily settle with a few calm words.
Then Galad was suddenly on his feet, his violet eyes devoid of any of the warmth of the previous hour. Willas followed him up, ready to step outside and reassure the men of their safety. He didn't want Galad getting into trouble for something as foolish as this.
To the side, Lorne had moved to one of the windows, and what he saw outside made his mustached face grow pale. "Ironborn," he whispered.
Willas' stomach dropped at those words. No, surely not, he thought with growing dread. Surely Lorne was mistaken. The Ironborn hadn't raided for years, and they would have heard news from the Shield Islands before any such attack could happen.
But then he glanced at the same window his guard was looking out of and caught his first glimpse of the men outside. They emerged from the tree line in a mad sprint, armed with swords and axes and mauls, war cries on their lips. On one of the ironman's tabard, a sigil stood out beyond all others. A golden kraken, rampant in a field of black.
Willas' breath caught in his throat, terror mounting in his heart. This wasn't a raid, he realized. They wouldn't wear their lord's sigil if it was.
This was rebellion.