Chapter 4

The training yard was abuzz with unruly clamor that evening. Martyn and Myles were going at it hard, circling and hacking at each other with their wooden swords. A bunch of watchers had gathered around them, most of them cheering for 'Martyn the Heir'. Edmun scoffed as he watched them from the gates of the armory as he knotted his bow. Myles seemed composed and focused on the job at hand, while Martyn's face was lit with stupid pride, as if the whole realm had come to watch him play with practice swords.

He didn't like this part of the day much, for in the evenings Edmun's cousins and companions would swarm the training yard to practise swords, leaving him behind. He had seen this fight before and he already knew that Martyn would win, despite him acting like a pig. Martyn was tall and strong, and stupidly good at swordplay; and for all of Edmun's other cousins's good-hearted efforts Myles wouldn't be able to best Martyn. Apart from Hoster and Lucas not many remained to challenge Martyn after that. The lowborns were too scared to fight the Heir, and Edmun was worse than most when it came to swords. 'Maidenhands,' Martyn had called him once after swatting away Edmun's sword from his hands. Everyone had laughed, and the Master-at-arms had looked at Edmun disapprovingly. Edmun had never practiced swords with Martyn after that.

When his bow and quiver were ready, he turned his back on the sword trainees and moved towards the targets. The crowd there was much thinner, mainly soldiers trying a bout of archery like him. There was a faint breeze that evening, changing directions at whim. Edmun exhaled and relaxed his shoulders as he nocked an arrow, taking a note of the breeze as he adjusted his aim. The loosened arrow whistled through the air and landed on the target, some inches south of bull's eye. Edmun cursed.

He nocked another one. Archery is not passionate. It is cold, and calculating. A hotheaded person can never succeed in it. With newfound inspiration Edmun shot the bow. The result was better this time, as he could see from yards away. Pleased, Edmun got ready for another one. He took his time before releasing, aiming for bull's eye. The arrow launched itself from his bow, and missed the target altogether.

"No! No! NOO!" Edmun shouted and threw the bow away which hit the floor with a sharp clatter. It wasn't supposed to be this way, he thought. He hadn't missed the target for many months, yet the sight in front of him was a mockery to all his achievements so far. Shaking his head Edmun moved to pick up the bow, praying for the perfect shot this time.

"You are not doing it right lad," came a voice from behind. Edmun turned to see his father standing behind him, a tired smile on his face. "Your mind seems to be somewhere else."

"I always shoot it right. I have done it many times," Edmun said back as Father walked to him. "Why are you in the training yard father?"

"A man needs a break oftimes," replied father. He picked up Edmun's bow for him. "I thought coming to the training yard might be fun, watching my son as he practices." He smiled grimly. "I thought I'd find you over there with Martyn and the others practicing swordplay. I should've remembered that you prefer the bow."

Edmun hung his head. "I am no good at swords," he mumbled. "My hands, they just refuse to follow Ser Sylas's commands."

"You have told me that," Father said, not unkindly. "Look son, I don't want to force you into anything. You are wise you should understand it yourself." Edmun moved to take his bow, but Father kept it firmly in his hands. Edmun looked up at his father's face which had lost its faint smile. "I am the third son," Father's voice became stern. "And you are the son of the third son. Martyn would inherit everything, and to remain relevant you have to remain in his good books. No Son," Father interrupted his retort. "One of these days you have to understand how it is. You hear me? You have to be good at swords, no matter how much you loathe them. Knighthood comes from sword and lance, not arrows. No one sings any songs about bowmen." Father grimaced. "If you want to make something of yourself then you have to become a knight, and for that you must learn to fight with a sword. I won't always be here to support you, you have to become a man soon." He handed him the bow with a look.

Father walked away leaving Edmun alone with the stupid bow, crestfallen and ashamed. The winter blizzards howled inside his head again, and he shivered with unease. Life isn't fair, he reminded himself. Grandfather will leave everything to Uncle Douglas, and he'll leave everything to Martyn. The Rock of Aegon the Fifth flashed in front of his eyes, lying abandoned beside a frigid lake. He remembered the Legion, defeated and routed by his grandfather for no crime.

To clear his mind he pulled another arrow from the quiver. That was all he could do, for he couldn't find it in himself to shoot. He threw away the bow again and strode towards the sword training yard with newfound zeal.

Hoster was getting ready to practice with Lucas, Martin's younger brother. At the moment Martyn the Heir was basking in admiration of those fawning at him. "Very good my lord," said Ser Sylas, the Master of Arms. "That was in quite a fashion you bested Lord Myles. Lord Walter would be proud for sure. He should arrange for you to squire for a Great Lord. Lord Tully, or Lord Lannister perhaps."

"Why not the King himself," said another knight who had been watching the swordplay. Edmun walked to stand before them, but no one took note.

"The King is mad," Ser Sylas said. "Perhaps the Prince."

"Ser Sylas," Edmun said out loud. "I wish to practice."

Now everyone was looking at him. The smirk on Martyn's face made Edmun want to gouge out his eyes. "Lord Edmun," said Ser Sylas, "haven't seen you here in a while."

"I wish to train," he repeated.

"Do you remember your lessons," the knight asked.

Edmun looked him in the eye. "I do," he said. "I can fight."

The knight couldn't refuse of course. "Very well. Lord Hoster, why don't you come and practice with Lord Edmun here."

Hoster was both puzzled and annoyed. Even he doesn't want to fight me. Regardless, he obeyed. Edmun took up his practice sword and shield. They both took position and circled each other, looking for an opening.

Let him come to you, Edmun told himself. When he does I will close the distance and knock the sword aside, and tackle him down. Hoster finally advanced, and Edmun lunged; but Hoster spotted his move in time and backed away. Edmun lost balance and stumbled.

The laughter that followed was cruel to say the least, but Edmun didn't care. All he heard was Father's worried voice asking him to become worthy. This time he lunged and swung his sword. Hoster matched the blows with his own, his arms more wieldy than Edmun's own. He was looking at him with worry, Edmun realized.

Edmun moved to tackle him down. For a moment he thought that Hoster'd let him win, but his cousin sidestepped at the right moment and tripped him. With a yelp Edmun fell down defeated on the sand, his sword flying away in a loop.

He could hear the laughter from Martyn and his lackeys, and for a moment he refused to budge up. He closed his eyes in shame, rebuking the tears that were threatening to show. "You alright Edmun," Hoster's voice came from behind, not unkind. Edmun turned and got up, dusting the sand from his doublet.

"Once a Maidenhands, always a Maidenhands," said Martyn and chortled. "Why do you even try Edmun. Go inside and cut up some onions. Kitchen knives suit you better than swords."

Edmun's spirits were down but he refused to take insults from his vile cousin. The Master at Arms was already rebuking Martyn. "Have some courtesy my lord," Ser Sylas said. "That is your cousin. Counsel him like an elder, don't mock him."

"Not kitchen knives," Edmun threw back. "Bows and arrows, they suit me better. Come have a match with me, let's see who wins."

Martyn bristled. He approached Edmun with heavy steps. Martyn was three years older than Edmun, with more muscle and some inches more height, yet Edmun returned his gaze all the same.

"Bows are coward's weapon," he replied. "Cowards and weaklings like you, who don't have the strength or honor to fight with swords, and choose to kill from a distance with treachery."

"Coward you are calling me." Edmun replied. "Here you stand, bragging about winning against those you are already sure to beat; and you call me a coward. Arrow or sword, you'd shit your breeches all the same when a real one comes at you."

Martyn's stupid face flushed with anger. He brought out his arms and pushed Edmun, and Edmun fell hard on the ground.

"That is enough my lords," the commanding voice of Ser Sylas rang through the twilight air. Martyn seemed to be thinking the same, for he had a very satisfied smirk on his face as he turned his back on Edmun. Edmun got up. "I think it fits," he called back. "Archery is for the smart, not for foolish brutes like you who push at those they can't beat."

Martyn turned at once and rushed him. Edmun did exactly what Hoster had done to him. He sidestepped and tripped the bigger boy down. Martyn fell face first into the sand.

The yard was silent as a graveyard. Martyn got up and spat out sand, and menaced towards Edmun. Seven hells, Edmun couldn't help but cower. He started backing away.

"That is enough My lords!"

"Shut up!" Martyn rasped at the Master of Arms.

Edmun turned to run away, but his leg caught on something and he lost his balance, falling for the third time. Martyn turned him on his back, a look of mad glee on his face.

"Let's see who shits their breeches now," he said, and punched Edmun hard on the nose. Edmun winced as he felt blood filling his nostrils. Martyn's fist rose again, and took Edmun on the jaw this time. Edmun cried out in pain.

"Who are you going to call, little one, Mother or Father?" Martyn mocked. "Or maybe sister Milly?"

Edmun saw his fist rising again. Not this time. He spat hard at Martyn landing a big blob of blood laced spittle right between his eyes. The brute flinched and furiously wiped his face. Wanting to capitalize on the moment Edmun's hands rose to defend himself. He couldn't push Martyn off, and in a wild moment of desperation Edmun's hand moved to Martyn's groin. He caught what he felt there, and pressed hard.

Martyn's donkey like bellow of pain was heard throughout the yard. He launched himself away and fell backwards, whimpering and curling himself into a ball. Edmun rose up and spat out blood. He moved towards the curled up Martyn and with all his resentment and hurt kicked him in the back.

He felt arms around him. Edmun was being pulled away. "What in the seven hells are you doing," he heard the shout of Ser Agron. Edmun watched as people knelt around Martyn, helping him to rise up. Martyn didn't get up though, Edmun noted with satisfaction.

The main hall was ablaze with turmoil before dinner. Edmun watched as his father and his uncle Douglas argued. It was their sons who had been involved in the fight after all. His Grandfather Lord Walter was also there, stroking his white beard as he watched the whole with wearing patience. Milly was sitting beside Edmun, as was his mother, Hoster, and Myles, even Lucas, who was Martyn's brother. They had seen what had happened in the yard and had spoken in support of Edmun.

"A children's fight," Father declared to Lord Douglas, "that is all!"

"A children's fight you say," Uncle Douglas shouted. "Your savage boy nearly emasculated my son. Is this what he wants, so that he can be the heir?"

"Stop saying these vile things brother," said Father. "Look at what your son did to his face. His nose is caved in, and his jaw is swollen. Listen to what everyone has to say for that. Martyn started the fight."

But Uncle Douglas wasn't done. "He attacked my son, the heir," he addressed Grandfather. "I want him punished!"

"Punish him how," Grandfather replied in his wizened voice from his seat. "I see both the boys are injured and bloody. I say we finish it here. If boys don't fight then they aren't boys," he declared. "We are to host a tourney soon, distractions like these can't be afforded."

"But he attacked the Heir," Lord Douglas's wife Lady Dana said defiantly. "This insolence can't go unpunished."

Edmun's mother spoke as well. "Your son started the fight. It is he who should be punished."

"He is in bed with his back broken," Aunt Dana was angry. "Is that not punishment enough? And who are you to speak to me that way Gisella? Know your place!"

Edmun felt anger inside him on seeing his mother insulted. "Enough," Lord Walter shouted definitively. "I will talk to the lad, see that he is taught a lesson. Everyone quiet down now!"

And it was all settled just like that. They all moved to the dinner table. Edmun's jaw was moaning in pain which made hard food difficult to chew. He sucked at the soup and stew from his ladle, and could swear that his oldest uncle and aunt looked pleased on seeing him struggle.

When they were done Lord Walter spoke to him. "You lad! Meet me in the study in half an hour," he said and walked away. Edmun gulped and looked at his father, who gave him a nod in support.

With a nervous gait Edmun walked towards his grandfather's study, unsure of what was to happen. He stopped in front of the tall oak gate which stood almost two feet higher than him. Nervously he gave it a knock. "Come in," came Grandfather's voice. Edmun pushed open the gate. Lord Walter was sitting at his desk, a map of the Riverlands behind him. Edmun closed the door and walked forward. "May I sit Grandfather," he asked.

Grandfather considered him. "You may," he replied. "I see you are polite enough, not the savage child your uncle professes to be."

Edmun wasn't sure what to say. The kind look on Grandfather's face was assuring though, and that put him at ease. "Why did you do it," Grandfather asked.

"I didn't do anything," Edmun replied. "Truly Grandfather! He came at me. Pinned me down and hit me in the face, twice! I took the chance.."

"And savaged his privates like a dog," Grandfather finished it for him. "He is to be your Lord one day. If you keep showing insolence then he'll remember it."

"He insulted my father," Edmun said with anger. "My mother and my sister. I got very angry after that."

"He will be taught a lesson as well lad," Grandfather counselled, stroking his chin. "I didn't build this House from nothing to hand it over to a brat."

"Martyn has been taught a lesson many times," Edmun complained. "He keeps getting away with it. He bullies us Grandfather! He and his..lackeys. We complain to the knights, but they don't listen." Edmun's resentments started bubbling up. "What kind of knights are they? Today Ser Sylas just stood and watched while Martyn beat me up."

"Listen lad.."

"Not just him," Edmun didn't care that he had just interrupted his grandfather. The anger was in him, and he had to get it out. "All other knights and man at arms just watched. They only came when I kicked Martyn. Where is the justice in that Grandfather?"

Grandfather was struggling with words. It was hard looking noble, when one had to deny the truth that was staring right at them. "Martyn will one day rule Harrenhal," he said. "He has to be strong if he hopes to command one day. Sure he will learn courtesy soon, but that rough stint is necessary in a Lord. Your cousin is strong and willful and that is required of him. You will serve him one day, and as such obedience is required of you. We all have parts to play dear boy." Grandfather smiled. "For that you have to lose your insolence and learn to respect him. Sure he will learn courtesy in time, but you have your own lesson to learn as well. Learn to obey, follow, and know your place. If you don't life can get hard."

Edmun couldn't believe his ears. "Martyn is a vile person," his voice was dazed. "How can he possibly be a good lord?"

"Vile or not, it is strength that is required for ruling. Strength to protect your own, and defeat the outsiders. The world has little to give boy, and if you want it then you have to be strong enough to take it."

Edmun's mind was thrumming as looked at his Grandfather's face, which suddenly looked dull and stupid as a toad. "He takes from us," he said with wide eyes. "He takes children's things, and breaks their wills. When they raise our voices they are silenced by threats. Is this your idea of a good lord?"

Grandfather's kind façade started breaking. "Listen lad.."

But Edmun wasn't done. "Were you also acting strong when you rode out against the Legion?"

The façade broke away to reveal an affronted face. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," said Edmun with vigor. "I read about it, the way you broke Aegon's Legion in the tourney grounds. They were afraid and hungry, looking for shelter. You and your knights attacked and killed them, and for what crime, it was just to please the new King. They tried to flee on foot, and you chased them with horses and dogs. They were good people, and you killed them!" He threw the accusation while he glared daggers at his grandfather. "And now you are telling me to bow to Martyn, a huge turd of a person, who is sure to do worse things than what happened..."

Edmun stopped abruptly. His stomach dropped and an icy cold feeling went through his whole body when he took note of his grandfather's face. Lord Walter Whent was glaring down at him with what could only be described as pure hatred. He had never seen Grandfather look at someone like that, not in his memory. That was when he realized that he crossed a line. He had crossed the line, and there was no coming back now. Lord Walter Whent rose from his seat and menaced towards him, and Edmun felt fear shrink him into the littlest thing imaginable.

"You...little...bastard," Lord Walter rasped venomously.

Edmun couldn't utter a sound. He was paralysed with fear. He just gulped, unable to break contact with Lord Walter's blood shot eyes.

"You...ungrateful...ungrateful...pampered little bastard! You think you can preach to me? Me?! What do you know of fairness? Of life?" Lord Walter stared hatefully at Edmun's blanched face. "Here let me show you!" Abruptly he snatched one of Edmun's arms and pulled at it with a force unimaginable from a grandfather. Edmun winced as Grandfather forced him up from his seat. "You will know your place soon, ungrateful little brat," each of his words was a spit of thick venom.

He dragged Edmun with him out of the study and then through the stony corridors of Harrenhal. Edmun followed him, walking, stumbling, being dragged on the floor. His wrist was screaming in pain where Grandfather held him, shunting his two bones together. 'Mercy grandfather. Forgive me please,' he wanted to shout, but his pride forbade him to.

"Clynton!" Lord Walter shouted for Edmun's father when he was outside his chamber, his voice mad with anger. "Clynton! Come on out! Come and see what your little whelp has done."

The chamber door burst open and his father and mother rushed out. "What happened?"

"Father!" Edmun couldn't help but cry out. "Mother!"

"Let go of him now Father," Father's voice was angry as he moved to defend him. "He is a boy for Gods' sake!"

His grandfather shoved Edmun into father's arms. Edmun's whole family and the servants had also come by then, shock etched on their faces as they took in the whole scene. Maester Forlan was there too, wild worry on his face.

"He won't have any of it, you hear me? I want nothing given to this rat! He is hereby disinherited from any of my wealth," Lord Walter barked. "I built this House from nothing, and the little shit has the nerve to teach morals to me!"

Hot tears rushed out of Edmun's eyes, he buried his face in Father's chest, refusing to look.

"He is your grandson Father," his father retorted. "Your blood. You can't.."

"I can and I will," shouted Lord Walter. "I have four others. Do you think you did me a favor by making a son? From what I see he is a useless mouth to feed!" He spat. "I want him out of this castle after the Tourney. You hear me? Find a different home for him. He has no place here!"

"What are you all staring at," Lord Walter shouted at the watchers. "Go to your chambers! Now!" He left for his chamber, and the crowd started dispersing.

When he was gone Father pushed Edmun gently off his chest to look him in the eyes. "What happened son?"

But Edmun couldn't utter a word as sobs racked his body. He felt himself falling down, but Father held on to him, refusing to let go. He loved his father with all his heart at that moment, but the sobs kept coming with breaths, unstoppable, inconsolable. He slumped down on the floor like a broken puppet, dragging his father with him.

He could hear his mother and his sister, his other family as well; talking around him. But Edmun couldn't comprehend them. A black blinding space was in front of his eyes, and Edmun's whole world seemed to have been lost in it.

In that black space faces appeared. The worn haggard faces Edmun had seen in the queue of commoners at the castle gates, that had appeared familiar to him when he had come back from riding. It was in his despair that Edmun realized how stupid he had been, and why the faces had appeared familiar.

He had seen those faces in the queue only, but on multiple days. Those people had been coming for many days, Edmun realized, asking for help from their lords. They kept coming and coming, and were being sent away, every day, by their Lords, my family.