With the Silent Strength of the Oak
Chapter 1
Like a gentle rolling wind, peace covers the Seven Kingdoms. Robert's Rebellion has ended the Targaryen dynasty and it seems the near future will be free of conflict. Fathers and mothers will raise their families without the crippling fear that their banners will be called and their sons will march away to die so far from home. The stag now sits upon the Iron Throne but the Seven Kingdoms lay virtually unchanged. The great houses that ruled before the rebellion still rule their respective kingdoms today. Just north of Highgarden in The Reach stands an old and prestigious house that swears fealty to House Tyrell: House Rowan. They were named Marshall of the Northmarch and serve the Tyrells and the realm with unwavering honor. The keep of House Rowan sits within a dwarf mountain range that overlooks the low rolling hills of the town of Goldengrove.
Goldengrove is an economic marvel. The city functions with inspiring precision and efficiency. The most luxurious grapes in the Seven Kingdoms are grown right outside the Lord's walls, and the best wine in all of Westeros is pressed with pride by Goldengrove citizens. Rolling hills of grain patched together like the quilt of a king: Brown, red, and white dance in the wind beneath the curling limbs of massive scattered oaks and bountiful walnut trees. Grids of fruit trees and endless vines of plump violet grapes stretch to the horizon in flawless rows as windmills slice through the crisp summer air. Herds of bison roam the plains and are harvested by citizens of the Northern Reach for their many valuable parts. One might walk over a hill and gaze upon its bucolic beauty and swear it were a paradise of the afterlife. The people of Goldengrove need not display artwork in their homes. Fancy paintings hold little value here. The land, so pristine and methodically beautiful, need only be seen from a framed window. In all its beauty, it is not just a pleasure for the eyes and the soul, but a mechanism of assiduity and disciplined execution. The operations of which are overseen by the lord of Goldengrove: Mathis Rowan.
Lord Mathis Rowan is an honorable man. His arduous service to the realm has elevated his house to a status of reverence. It is by no accident that Goldengrove's economy continues to flourish. The lord is a brilliant man, and his talents both politically and economically come second only to his diligence. This empire of wine and grain, built on the backs of hard-working men and women, owes its success directly to Lord Mathis. He built an admirable reputation for The Rowans of Goldegrove. Lord Rowan married Lady Bethany Redwyne of The Arbor. The Redwynes are another powerful and prestigious house. They're from an island just off the coast of the southern tip of The Reach and boast a large and impressive navy. Together, Lord and Lady Rowan have three children: Two girls called Maelene and Gwyneth, and the youngest, a boy called Tohr. Lord Rowan with all of his honor did manage to father a bastard called Peter, two years younger than Tohr, with a whore in Highgarden.
Tohr is a boy of seventeen, born not long after Robert Baratheon first sat upon the Iron Throne. He is as handsome as he is charismatic. Tohr is not a typical, proper Westerosi lord. He was not groomed with particularity to be the heir of his father's legacy. He picked grapes as a child, and he ploughs the fields as a young man. Tohr is cunning like his father, but not driven by pride and politics. He performs his family duties with as much enthusiasm as one would have scrubbing the chamber pots. He truly cares for Goldengrove and its people and he holds much pride in the land. Though apathetic in demeanor, Tohr was gifted with a mesmerizing eloquence. He has a strong jaw-line covered in thick brown stubble and his stoic smirk alone could melt the heart of any woman. Though admired throughout the realm, Tohr does not care much for the façade of lordship. Disingenuous encounters with lords and ladies annoy him. Forced greetings with counterfeit contentedness; it was enough to drive him mad.
Peter is a scrappy young lad with messy blonde hair and a mouth that never shuts. He only seems content if someone somewhere is looking to kill him. Peter is an expert at pulling danger like a boot-knife from of any mundane situation. Peter was a baby when he showed up on the lord's doorstep with a letter from his deceased mother. He is foul-mouthed, loud, and blunt, but extremely loyal to Tohr. Though Peter often causes all the trouble, it is Tohr who talks their way out of a potentially perilous situation. When Tohr's silver tongue could not free them from a tight spot, the two could throw their fists like men twice their size. Peter wore a scar that started from between his eyes and curved along his cheekbone to the bottom of his hear.
They were both also very gifted fighters. With a sword, a bow, an axe, it mattered not. But the two were experts with a knife. The quick draw and slash of a knife could kill a man before he was able to pull his slow heavy sword. Many young men from the northern parts of the Reach settled arguments and feuds with knives, rather than a swords. They admitted it was sort of a silly geographical custom, but it is a skill they wouldn't trade for anything. It was not uncommon, the need, to draw their blades on bandits attempting to seize their cargo during deliveries. Most men underestimate the precision of a knife. The boy's inclination for adventure has brought them face to face with the vileness of foul men and their egregious transgressions. Numerous times they were outnumbered and outmuscled and found a way to slip out unscathed after knocking large vicious men into the dirt. Peter's reputation by itself was enough to create an altercation out of thin air. If Peter's infamy failed him his mouth would assuredly destroy any neutrality in a room.
Gwyneth has a real talent for impressing the realm with her flirty smile, voluminous orange hair, and well rehearsed mannerisms. She is an ideal lady of Westeros and is very much like her mother, and was groomed to be so. Gwyneth is a flower amidst grapes and grain. Maelene is the oldest of the three. She has more in common with an oak tree than her sister. She is tall, quiet, and rarely emotional. Mae, though stoic, is brilliant and bright. She wears her fancy dresses and curtsies when meeting important people, but she is much more than a pretty face. She helps her father with the operations of the Goldengrove economy and has shown a disciplined capacity for politics. When both ladies of House Rowan were promised to esteemed lords of The Reach, and as is custom of Lady Bethany, she threw an extravagant party in celebration. House Rowan was famous for their ostentatious gatherings hosted by Lady Bethany. They had become uncommon yet cherished events.
Every house of the realm had at least one Maester. Usually they were men beaten by age but rich with wisdom. Houses of The Reach were often very lucky to receive some of the best maesters the realm had to offer, simply because The Reach contained Oldtown and the Citadel, the home of the Order of the Maesters. The very best maesters often served houses of the Reach because of their close proximity to the Citadel. The maester of House Rowan, Maester Barrand, was no exception. Maester Barrand was a teacher and mentor to Tohr and Peter and was more of a father to them then Lord Mathis.
On Tohr's thirteenth nameday the Maester presented Tohr and Peter with a matching set of knives. The knives were identical and like no other blades in the known world. The blades themselves were forged in Oldtown by an expert bladesmith named Gworoft Mooire whose fame is second to his elusiveness. You'd swear he were a ghost if you hadn't seen his ʌ mark upon blades. Still to this day Tohr is unsure how the Maester was able to come by such finely forged steel. Many Westerosi Knights could not even get their hands on a Mooire blade. They were polished and single-edged with a fuller, bronze pins, guard, and pommel. The knives had buffalo horn handles with curly black walnut wood from an old tree that once stood in the courtyard
"I expect you boys to be responsible with these knives." Maester Barrand had told them. "They hold the soul of Goldengrove and harness the pride of House Rowan within them. And there exists no finer blade that is not of Valyrian Steel. I do not wish to stitch one of you boys up again."
The keep of House Rowan sits atop a very small range of mountains in the otherwise low rolling hills of Goldengrove. Structures of the keep are built of pale stacked stones and lumber of white oaks. Though not necessarily a defensive fortress these substantially staunch buildings have been standing for a thousand years. Small wooden cottages lay scattered throughout the mountains. In some live servants, staff, and family, and some lay unoccupied in anticipation of noble guests. Nearly all of Goldengrove's lands can be seen from the towers of the keep. A long winding wall surrounds the mountains entirely. It curves with the ups and downs of the rough terrain and stands tall with large oak trees that blanket the dwarf mountains. The main stronghold of the keep is tucked back between steep cliffs and inclining slopes and cannot be seen from outside the mountains. Hidden caves lay about the mountains. Some open into large caverns, others turn into castle halls and connect various buildings and rooms. A long cobble road stretches from the main gate to the grand hall, covered by the branches of tall crooked trees. Four small bridges span a snaking creek that forms scattered ponds throughout the range. A packed gravel road bends its way up the saddle of two peaks, where a collection of beautiful large houses and a quiet secluded inn await gratified guests. The keep itself is a small town, hidden to the outside world but busy with crowds of townsfolk and guests alike. The hall of House Rowan is a luxurious stone stacked building with towering pillars of carved white oak and tall elaborately detailed windows. A pale statue of Rowan Gold-Tree stands on a pedestal above a garden of beautiful eclectically colored flowers.
Tall elegant candles dressed in gold lace burned slowly and abundantly in the embellished hall of House Rowan. Long ornate tables carved from curly walnut by generations of the finest woodworkers in Westeros sat illustriously in three columns. At the rear of the hall on an elevated platform stood the head table for the House Rowan family. House banners of fine fabric hung from the rafters with prominence: A gold oak upon a silver plane. Tables were set with beautiful golden trays and crystal goblets of the superior quality. Exquisite wicker baskets sat filled with steaming Goldengrove breads. Bright juicy peaches, large shiny apples, and thousands of apricots lay scattered about each table. Beautiful female servants in long elegant dresses trimmed in gold filled each guest's goblet with a Goldengrove wine hand-selected by Lord Mathis for the occasion.
Lady Bethany Rowan was known for throwing lavish parties and this particular one was by far the largest gathering. Prominent guests from every corner of The Reach were in attendance. The families of Maelene and Gwyneth's husbands to be were seated at the tables closest to the head table. Family members of houses Oakheart, Caswell, Merryweather and Crane were also in attendance. House Redwyne, Lady Bethany's family, showed in the largest numbers. Though a noble and honorable house, the House Redwyne family is an arrogant and gossipy bunch. They boast bright orange hair and freckle covered skin. Lady Gwyneth looks more like a Redwyne than a Rowan, and her and her mother are both ones to gossip, slander, and bully others.
A band of Goldengrove musicians played music softly in the background as the chatter of a hundred guests filled the room. The guests ripped open the warm loaves of freshly baked bread and swirled and sipped their goblets of deep red wine. Smiles and laughter beamed from their faces and besides the Redwynes who sat with noses turned upwards, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Mae teased Gwyneth who was doing her best to be lady-like. Tohr laughed at Peter who was not allowed at the head table, but was blatantly flirting with an older woman from house Ashford as he guzzled down free wine. Lady Bethany sat with pride and satisfaction as her husband stood to address the guests. The room fell silent, the musicians ceased, and all eyes lay on Lord Mathis Rowan.
"I thank you all. I thank you for coming to celebrate the promises of marriage to our two and only daughters to noble houses of The Reach. I hope your journeys here were not burdensome and I hope that when you leave, you leave satisfied. The words of House Rowan: With the silent strength of the oak. The oak is only as strong as its roots are deep. The relationships we have built, and watered, and strengthened, are what keep us standing tall. The oak is only as strong as the ground in which it grows. The Reach, which we all call home, and the Tyrells of Highgarden are the foundation in which we prosper. Please, raise your glasses: To my beautiful daughters and the roots we drive deep."
The guests shared a sip of wine and Lord Rowan took his seat. Lady Bethany placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and gazed at him with endearment. Large carved oak doors swung open and fat roasted pigs were carried out hurriedly to each table with platters of thickly sliced bison meat. A mouthwatering aroma filled the hall. Everyone remained collaboratively jovial as they tore into the eclectic food. Crystal goblets clinked together, fresh barrels of wine were tapped, and food was pouring perpetually from the adjacent kitchen. Peter was slapped in the face after attempting to kiss the old woman from Ashford. Tohr and Maelene erupted with laughter and Gwyneth shook her head in disbelief. The party went on for hours. Guests were dancing and singing, hugging and kissing, drinking, and genuinely enjoying themselves. As candle wax dripped onto the oak tables many of the party-goers started stumbling back their rooms. Lord and Lady Rowan thanked their guests individually and retreated to their bedchamber. There remained nearly forty guests, still drinking and dancing.
Two red-headed Redwynes and another boy with long blonde hair stood in the corner pointing, whispering, and laughing among themselves. Peter took notice of their malevolent gaze and mouthed "Fuck you" to the boys while wiping the juice of a peach from his mouth. The boys were visibly flustered by the action. They puffed up their chests and walked over to Peter. The biggest Redwyne boy was also the oldest, a boy of 17. He was called Richard. He was tall and fit and tucked his red hair behind his ears. The younger of the red heads was Richard's little Brother Arthur. Arthur was a few years younger than Richard. He was short, stocky and painful to look at. The blonde haired boy was their cousin William Redwyne. He was only a hair shorter than Richard but much leaner. You could only tell he was a Redwyne by the way he stood with an upturned nose and the permanent look of disdain plastered about his face.
"Have you something to say bastard?" Richard snickered. "It's great that Lord Rowan even lets you attend these parties. If this were The Arbor I would throw scraps to the dogs before you."
Peter smiled and squinted at the boys. "If this were bread and wine from The Arbor id throw it to the dogs too. I would rather die of thirst than drink the red piss you call Arbor wine."
Richard's face turned beet red with anger. Peter knew exactly how to get under their skin. Peter knows exactly how to get under anyone's skin. Tohr calls it a cruel gift. Richard's hand moved to the handle of his dagger.
"You should be careful how you talk to us bastard. You are beneath us, and House Rowan is beneath us. While you command a plough and scythe I will be commanding a fleet of ships. You are but a worm that crawls in the dirt." Richard's jaw was clenched tightly. William grabbed Richard's shoulder and pulled him back to their table. Arthur spit at the feet of Peter and followed.
"Making some new friends Pete?" asked Tohr as he walked up behind Peter.
"Aye, a lovely bunch of cock suckers." Peter replied.
The numbers of the party continued to dwindle until finally Tohr and Peter were ready to leave. They made their rounds and thanked some of the remaining guests for sharing the celebration with them. Their words were ever slurred and barely formed coherent sentences. The musicians were gathering their instruments. The hall was being mopped and tables cleared. The tall elegant candles were now a heap of white wax that no longer held a flame. The boys exited the hall onto the cobble path where a group of young lords and ladies stood rambling aggressively. It was the Redwyne brothers, William, and their sister Helena. Tohr did not recognize the other two boys but they were surely of a noble house. They were circled around a boy and girl much younger than the group. The Redwyne boys were leading the banter. The young girl in the center had her arm around the boy who was much smaller than her. The boy's eyes were wet with tears and his face red with shame.
"It's just like a boy from Ashford to cry in fear rather than fight." Richard teased. "What kind of lord lets his sister protect him?" the group laughed nefariously.
"Let us go back to our room. He is sick and vomiting. We haven't done anything to you." The girl pleaded.
"The boy is sick from wine? Is he not... from The Reach? You and your family are a disgrace to the realm. This is the land of wine and luxury. Our peasants wear fancier clothes than you, do all the lords of Ashford dress like animals?"
Peter looked at Tohr with drunken anger in his eyes.
"Pete it's fine, let them be. We do not need to involve ourselves tonight, " Tohr pleaded.
"I hate them Tohr. Look at those cunts. They are disrespecting House Rowan by acting like that." Peter replied. He walked with purpose as he advanced toward the group. Tohr followed reluctantly.
"You cock-loving pricks have anything better to do tonight?" Peter shouted. "Why don't you head off to the guest houses and fondle each other like real men of The Arbor? In the morning you can blame the wine and head back to your island confused with sexual uncertainty." Peter was not even able to crack a smile at his Tohr-like insult.
"I think we have had enough of your mouth, bastard." William exclaimed.
"You are not very smart to pick a fight when you are outnumbered. There are five of us and only two of you," Richard smiled. The lords Tohr did not recognize looked at each other with confusion.
"I am ashamed to share blood with you twats. Your disrespect and arrogance has not gone unnoticed. You're picking on the young lord and lady of Ashford because they don't share your enthusiasm for queer elegance?"
Peter pushed himself through the group and took the hands of the girl and her brother. He led them to the gravel path that led to the guest houses. The group turned their attention towards Tohr.
"And what is a boy from Goldengrove to know about elegance? You are nothing more than a farm hand with the last name of a lord. I am promised to squire for Loras Tyrell. While I am off fighting to protect the realm you will be here scrubbing the dirt and shit from your fingernails," Richard said.
"Well, for your sake I hope you fight better than most of the soft men of The Arbor. Gods forbid you're cut in half on the battlefield cause you were busy staring at your reflection in your pretty polished dagger." Tohr pointed at the blade hanging from his ornately braided leather belt.
Richard drew the blade and examined it as it shimmered in the moonlight. Peter stepped towards Tohr and drew his knife. Tohr scratched his head, "You know, most men would not pull a blade unless they intended to use it. I will give you an opportunity to put it away. We will go back to the keep, and you can continue praising yourself for your social status within the realm."
Richard lowered his blade and looked to his goons for the reaction on their faces.
"But I do intend to use it," he raised his dagger and thrust it towards Tohr's stomach.
Tohr side-stepped and threw his fist into Richard's jaw. Richard stumbled back as the other Redwyne boys pulled knives from their tunics. Peter charged the boys with his knife in hand. Tohr pulled his blade and in the same upward motion, slashed the face of Richard. His face displayed a laceration from cheek to forehead. Richard lunged forward with a mask of fresh blood. Tohr leaned back and shoved his knife down into the forearm of the arrogant ginger. Richard's dagger fell to the ground as Tohr threw another punch that put the boy on the ground. Peter dodged the strikes from the two other boys but did manage to cut Arthur's knuckles with a defensive slash. Tohr came up from behind and grabbed Arthur by the throat. Blood sprayed from his hand as he swung his knife wildly at Tohr. With his free hand Tohr grabbed the boy's bloody hand and stuck the boy deep in the thigh with his own blade and twisted it. Arthur cried out in pain and dropped to his knees. His eyes shot wide open and his face turned sickly pale. Tohr turned to the Redwyne girl who was crying hysterically in her hands. Covered in Redwyne blood, Tohr pointed his knife at the other two boys who stood with their arms out and hands open as to not be threatening. Peter delivered a few good cuts to William's chest and arms. In a frantic and final lunge William leaped forward with his knife. Peter jumped back as he kicked the clean blade out of his hand and seized him by the collar of his tunic. Peter reared back and head-butted William in the face. His nose burst open as he fell to his back bleeding profusely. The bloodied Redwyne boys were hollering in agony as two House Rowan servants ran to their aide. Tohr and Peter wiped the blood from their blades on the tunics of the two boys who now stood petrified with mouths agape. They tucked their knives into their belts and ran towards the keep.
The sun still sat below the horizon. The short and sweet whistles of song birds floated through the cool damp air. With heavy eyelids, Tohr pulled himself to the edge of his bed and placed his feet on the cold wood floor. Through the slivers of his partially open eyes he saw his brother sprawled out like a House Bolton banner in a puddle of his own drool. Tohr rubbed his eyes and managed himself to his feet. There was a knock at his bedroom door,
"My Lord? Lord Mathis has summoned you. If Peter is with you he wishes to speak with him as well." the soft voice of Mariella, a House Rowan servant, eased its way through the thick oak door.
Tohr let out a loud and lengthy groan, "Thank you Mariella, we will come at once."
Tohr approached Peter who was smacking his lips and kicked him in the side. He jolted awake with wide eyes and wiped the saliva from his face.
"Put something on, Father wishes to speak with us," yawned Tohr.
Peter sat up and his eyelids fell shut. Tohr kicked him again.
"Now, Pete!"
They advanced down the long corridor and shuffled up the carpeted stone steps to Lord Mathis' quarters. Aggressive words flew through the room as they pushed open the large heavy doors. An enormous table with twenty chairs sat centered in the room. Lord Mathis and Lady Bethany stood at the far end of the table scowling at the boys as they entered. Richard, Arthur, and William were seated at the table but did not make eye contact with Tohr and Peter. A long row of stitches appeared to be holding two halves of Richard's face together. Both of William's eyes were black and nearly swollen shut. Arthur's hand was wrapped up in white cloth and a crutch was leaned up against his chair. Richard and Arthur's sister Helena, and William's father Byron Redwyne stood behind the boys. Byron's face was wine red and a vein that ran vertically across his forehead was bulging from beneath the skin.
"I want these boys flogged for their behavior." Byron's voice was hoarse and dry. "They are thugs with no honor! What kind of cowards did you raise Lord Mathis? Look at them. There is not a scratch on them. They snuck up behind these boys as they left the hall, drew their blades and attacked them."
"Byron, you cannot know what happened by the biased testimonies of your own kin. We need to hear the facts, and we need to go about this reasonably and with the intent to deliver justice." Lord Mathis spoke with such a collected confidence.
"Justice was delivered," Peter said quietly. Byron Redwyne was visibly twitching with rage.
"You fucking bastard!" Byron screamed as he stepped towards Peter. Two Rowan guards came forward and dissolved the conflict.
"Peter, leave." Lord Rowan commanded. Peter turned and paced out glaring at the Redwynes.
"You see? They have no honor and no remorse for their actions. All would be fine if it were an innocent scuffle but look at these boys. They will have permanent damage." said Byron. "Send them to the wall, they do not deserve to be part of a functioning society."
Tohr looked at his father beneath bent brows. "Every story has two sides my Lord. Peter was not wrong. Justice was delivered. It was delivered with swift precision. May I suggest you summon the young Lord and Lady from Ashford father?" The heads of the Redwyne boys dropped in defeat as Tohr peered over them. "Peter was protecting the Ashfords when Richard pulled his dagger on me. I even tried to deescalate the situation once more but he lunged at me. They are liars and they are filth." Something about the way words rolled out of Tohr's mouth always made people listen.
"Tohr, you may leave. You and Peter are to stay within the keep walls until you are sent for again. Is that clear?" Lord Mathis said. Tohr nodded and exited the room as the large heavy doors closed behind him.
On the highest peak of the range was a tall round tower with no roof. It offered a complete view of the keep and surrounding lands. There was a large rock protruding out of the mountainside beneath the that tower that Tohr often went to to clear his mind. There was a tall, strong oak that shaded a grassy plot that could not be seen from the tower or the keep. As Tohr climbed over a wall of rock and stepped out onto the resilient patch of green grass he gazed up upon the towering oak. The tree was split down the middle. Both sides of the colossal oak were peeling away from one another and the fibers of the wood had burst and torn. He peered over the shredded fissure as plump beetles scurried about and burrowed in the tree's bowels.
Tohr sat down in the grass, leaning up against the base of the large rock. A plump crow with beautiful black feathers sat silently perched on one side of the torn tree oblivious of Tohr. Tohr pulled out his knife and chipped off the dry blood that had collected in its fuller. On the surface he was calm and composed, but a lurking fear was churning within him. The Redwynes were a powerful house and had strong connections to the crown. He worried more for Peter than himself. Peter was a bastard, he did not have the same privileges as Tohr. He could not shake the image of the boys' faces from his mind. Their injuries were a lot worse than he had originally thought. He replayed the night over and over again and tried to convince himself that he and Peter could have done something different. He wishes it could have gone differently, but does not regret saving the young Ashfords from the cruelty of those boys. The relationship of Tohr and his father was not one of a typical father and son. Lord Mathis had never shown Tohr or any of his siblings an ounce of love or affection. He was a dispassionate and calculated man that cared more for his reputation and status than he ever had for empathy.
The sun rose from behind an eastern peak as a cool breeze moved through the wildflowers. Birds bounced from tree to tree chirping in discussion. Tohr could see, almost in entirety, the whole of the keep. It looked so halcyon from afar. Small scattered cottages stippled the mountainsides. Smoke rose from the chimney of the hall and faded into the crisp blue sky as creamy white clouds sailed smoothly aloft. Tohr rose to his feet and started back to town down a path of trampled grass.
He found Peter behind the barracks releasing arrows from a Rowan longbow. House Rowan was quite well known for the competence of their archers on the battlefield. Tohr picked up a bow and nocked an arrow. Peter placed a shot in the center of the target. Tohr aimed and sent his arrow spiraling through the air. As it hit the target it shattered Peter's arrow and sent splinters into the air. He looked at Peter with a smug grin and shrugged his shoulders. Peter sat down on a wooden crate and turned to Tohr.
"What do you think is going to come of all this?" Peter asked. "He had to pull that fucking dagger didn't he?"
"I don't know Pete, we did the right thing. We couldn't have caused less damage and still walked away from the fight. I just pray my mother does not side with those twats and convince father we were in the wrong."
Mariella rounded the corner and signaled the boys. They laid down their bows and followed Mariella to the keep. The Redwyne carriages were pulling onto the cobblestone road that led to the main gate as the boys proceeded through the keep doors. Lord Mathis had come down the stairs and met them in the foyer with anger in his eyes.
"What you did to those Redwyne boys is beyond intolerable. We invited them into our home to celebrate and they left with life-threatening injuries." Lord Mathis spoke unhurriedly. "Richard nearly died as they stitched up his face. I thought you had learned your lesson about knife fighting from Peter's incident. There is a possibility that Arthur will never again walk without a limp. Lady Bethany is furious that you have soiled our relationship with The Arbor, and I hope Byron's brother Paxter, Lord of The Arbor does not seek a requital for the blood of his kin that was spilled in Goldengrove. Now, having said that, Lord Wallace and Lady Abigail of House Ashford were not summoned by me. They came to talk with me of their own accord and spoke on behalf of their two young children Robert and Emilie. They attested to your character, corroborated your stories, and believed they owe a debt to House Rowan for your heroism. I cannot, by the gods, forgive you for defiling one of our strongest allies in the Redwynes. But I also cannot pretend the smug Redwyne boys are blameless and virtuous. House Ashford is an honorable house. To not take their testimony earnestly would be a grave mistake and a disservice to all involved. Guests of our family left our walls with serious and nearly fatal injuries. That circumstance is deplorable and inadmissible. However, letting our guests be surrounded and attacked within our walls would also be an egregious offense. I have decided to spare you responsibility of their injuries, but know that you are not forgiven for the brutality of those injuries. Peter is no longer welcomed to live within the keep walls. He will reside in farmhouse on the edge of town. All preparations have been made. You both are to attend the stables, and kennels in addition to your other duties as members of this family. Maester Barrand will be expecting you tomorrow morning to help him tend and clean the infirmary. You may leave."
Tohr and Peter bowed and retired to their rooms. They were quite satisfied with their punishment even if it meant Peter would no longer stay in the keep. The two were rarely pent up inside the walls anyways. For a moment Tohr actually thought they would be sent north to the wall. Why wouldn't they? Tohr is not really treated much like a true son of Lord Mathis anyways. Part of Tohr had always felt like Goldengrove did not offer him enough. He wished him and Peter could run away and board a ship. He'd go port to port and see the world. Peter did not really care as much. So long as there was trouble to get into he was happy anywhere.
Tohr met Peter and started toward the infirmary. The infirmary was a small stone building around the corner from the hall. A gravel path that wrapped around a small green pond led right to the steps of the building that raised up from a garden of wildflowers. The doors opened before they had a chance to reach for them and small old man hunched over with age greeted them and escorted them inside.
"Good morning boys," Maester Barrand smiled. "We stitched those boys up nicely that you sent to us. It's good to see those blades still have an edge after all these years. Lucky for him I have had experience with a wound nearly identical."
Peter looked down at his boots and ran his fingers over the scar on his face.
"I'm very sorry about that sir," Tohr stuttered. "I truly wish there had been another way…"
"It was some of my best work to date I must say!" The Maester interrupted. "I'm sure those boys were not free of blame. I am very familiar with that Redwyne family. I am surprised, however, to see that you boys have not a scratch on you."
"We were very lucky sir," Tohr replied. "Please, anything you need from us sir, we are here to help. If there is anything we are better at than fighting, it is working."
"Yes I believe that is true," Maester Barrand nodded. "Let's start by having a proper breakfast then shall we?"
The Maester directed the boys up a set of narrow stairs that led to a loft above the infirmary. A table was set with bread, wine and boiled chicken. The Maester sat with them at the table as they began eating. He started telling them stories from when he was a young man of Westeros, stories of fights, stories of love, and stories of his adventures before he left for the Citadel. He pointed at Peter and his eyes got narrow.
"You remind me of a boy I knew in my younger days. Have I ever told you that Peter? He was a wild, reckless kid from The Neck, and as mean as a dire wolf. He used to pick fights with the older boys just to prove himself. When I left for the Citadel he got himself into trouble and was sent north to serve in the Night's Watch. Last I heard he had really made a name for himself there too. Boy, he could really fight, you should have seen him make fools of men!" The Maester's eyes had a twinkle in them they had never seen before.
Truthfully the boys knew nothing of Maester Barrand's past. He had always been a great teacher, he taught them the histories of Robert's Rebellion and the conquest of Aegon Targaryen. He instilled in them lessons and morals they carry with them every day. Maester Barrand was often there for them when their father was not. He pushed them to be the best men they could be and strive to be great. But he rarely talked about himself and his upbringing as a boy from the Neck and his experiences in Westeros before joining the Order of the Maesters. This new perspective of the man made them love him even more.
The boys had long finished their meals and headed down to the main floor to begin their penance. The Maester pushed out a pail of water and the boys began scrubbing the blood soaked cobblestones. The entire floor was caked in Redwyne blood. The boys scrubbed for quite some time, only stopping to dump and refill the pail with clean water. The sun was high overhead when they finished. Their fingers were swollen and wrinkly with water. The stone floor was spotless and clean. The chairs and tables had been cleaned as well, the grain of the wood beamed with new life. The Maester was rather impressed with their work and thanked them for their diligent effort and sent them on their way.
Tohr and Peter continued their normal routines: Ploughing fields, cutting wheat, preparing shipments, and organizing the flow of commodities to be exported. When they had finished that, they shoveled the shit from the stables, filled the horses' troughs, and threw scraps of raw meat to the hounds. For months they carried out their mundane duties but did so with integrity. The monotony of their lives began chipping away at their souls. The stress of confinement swelled within them and a ravenous need to escape was clawing to the surface.
Every now and then they'd stop by Maester Barrand's place and help him out with any chores he had. The Maester would feed them, and tell them more exhilarating stories. He told them the tale of The Long Night as though it were history and not legend. He taught them about the Doom of Valyria that changed the face of the world forever, and of Valyrian Steel. He shared with them his childhood, growing up poor in the swamps of the Neck. He was quite jovial and loquacious when he got going. The boys were not forced to visit the Maester, they truly only went because of how happy it made the old man seem, and they did learn a lot. Everytime he started a story, he felt forty years younger. Tohr was fascinated with the stories, he even made it an obligation to obtain a Valyrian steel sword for House Rowan by the time he died, so that he may live on through it as it was passed down to the lords of Goldengrove. So many noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms had a Valyrian Steel sword, why shouldn't they, he thought.
Tohr felt he was outgrowing his home. He longed to explore, adventure, and grow his mind and soul. Perhaps he could squire for a brave Westerosi knight, he was a great with a sword afterall, though even better with a knife. Maybe he'd buy passage on a ship to Essos, or join a mercenary group and travel the world. Wherever he went, he knew his father would not miss him. He had always felt like he had more to offer then his day to day duties of agronomics and lordship. There was always a fire burning deep in his soul that yearned to expand and spread freely. His dreams however, did not always include his brother fighting at his side. But consciously, he could not picture himself without his scrappy little brother. He was the wild that offset his collected composure and Tohr always carried the guilt of what he had done to Peter's face when they were children.