Honor & Fealty chapter 15
From the Age of Heroes to long after Robert's Rebellion ended the regime of House Targaryen and beyond, House Tully stood as a pillar of the Riverlands, the most frequently used battleground for every feud, dispute and conflict in the realm.
House Tully and the Riverlands had become so synonymous with each other that one could not speak of either without mentioning the other.
Unlike other places like the North, the Reach, the Stormlands, the Vale and the Westerlands, the Tullys were never kings in the Riverlands. No matter how many battles they won or what favors they garnered from their countrymen and rulers along the way, not one member of House Tully ever wore a crown or ruled as either King of the Trident.
Hoster Tully and his brother, Brynden, along with Hoster's children; Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure, were all that remained of House Tully's lineage. Four silver trouts and the Blackfish.
Ser Brynden Tully, who had always been the one to speak out on things unspoken by his uptight brother, spoke candidly and privately with Lord and Lady Stark after breaking fast.
The latter of the two was more upset and disturbed than the former when Brynden told her of Howland Reed's omen for House Tully. Ned listened objectively to what was being discussed with his 'lord's face' firmly in place.
"Where does Lord Howland Reed get the audacity to speak in such a way against my family?" Catelyn demanded.
"Howland Reed does not bear any disrespect or ill will to our house, Catelyn, but the things he said were those I had come to suspect for a long time." Brynden answered. He did not want to be the bearer of bad news but such a task seemed to be inevitable.
"What have you come to suspect of House Tully, Ser Brynden?" Ned asked.
Brynden looked to each of them, took a deep breath and recited what he had been rehearsing in his mind for a long while. "Hoster's health will fail him and within the same year, he will die."
Using what strength she possessed, Catelyn looked at her uncle, gathered her thoughts and said, "Go to my father, uncle. The two of you have squabbled and feuded with each other long enough. Please try to make peace with him while the two of you are able to talk together."
"I can not make any promises and be called an oathbreaker through no fault of mine but I will see him. I will talk with him. If the Gods permit a miracle to happen, peace could be made between us. However, there are other matters that have robbed me of a good night's rest."
Brynden then spoke of the other predictions. Lysa would be lost to dementia; for what, he did not know and yet the Blackfish silently recalled a horrendous act ordered by Hoster Tully. In retrospect, it was the precursor to Lysa's madness.
When he spoke of Edmure and the fate that awaited him, Catelyn lost her restraint and composure. She rose from her chair and fled the room out of fear that she would lash out at her uncle.
Edmure Tully would be branded a traitor to the realm and the bane of the Riverlands.
What Brynden Tully did not know was that conflicting birthrights would tear his family apart.
While Ned was not unsympathetic or inconsiderate to Brynden Tully's plight, there was a matter he had to bring up. "In the event that Edmure Tully is unfit to take up the mantle, it would be your responsibility to be your brother's successor as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."
"Lord Stark, I understand your reasoning and it is all valid but my brother's pride and stubbornness are legendary. He would curse me from beyond the grave if he saw the blackfish flying over the ramparts of Riverrun."
"When a Tully rules from Riverrun, does it make any difference what color the fish on their standard is?" Ned asked.
"Not in the least to me. All things being fair, my old arse was never made to polish a throne." Brynden argued.
"My elder brother was meant to become Lord of Winterfell. I never thought I was right to bear such a title, much less to be the Warden of the North. Yet here I am with both titles and all the responsibilities inherited from both laid upon my shoulders."
The old Riverman looked at Ned with a smirk. "Brandon was a wild man in his time. The same could be said for me. Had he lived, would he have made a proper Lord of Winterfell?"
"I will never know the answer to that question. What I may find out, if it does happen, is whether or not an old knight can be a good ruler."
Arya was in the middle of packing her clothes when Sansa entered her room. Though she often chastised her younger sister for her tomboyish ways, Sansa loved Arya deeply.
Lady entered with her master and approached Nymeria, who sat on her haunches by Arya's bed.
"I'm almost ready. Are the Mormonts waiting for me and Bran?" Arya asked.
"They are still in the Guest House gathering their belongings and helping Lady Dacey get her belongings in place. It may be a while until they are ready." Sansa said, taking notice of Arya's enthusiasm and excitement. "I have never seen you so excited as you are now. Why couldn't you show the same enthusiasm for the lessons taught to us here in Winterfell?"
"Because I don't want to be the docile wife to some lord and be expected to just bear children and run the household. You might have bought into that kind of life but I did not. Dacey and her sisters are able to do everything I could only dream of. They got to choose how they wanted to live."
"Those are not the things a proper lady does." Sansa argued.
"If that is true, I will never be a proper lady, Sansa." Arya snapped.
Sansa let out a sigh of resignation. "You already have your mind made up. I do not know if you will believe me when I say it but I will miss you."
Arya looked at Sansa with a softened glance and hugged her. "You are overbearing like Mother at times but I do love you and I will miss you too."
A knock on the door caught their attention. Sansa opened it to reveal Jon Snow and Lyra Mormont standing together with a parcel wrapped in cloth. "Is that what we were working on?" Sansa asked.
Lyra nodded. "Mikken crafted a good buckle to hold the belt around her waist."
Sansa smiled at what Lyra told her before noticing how the black-haired she-bear wore a dress that proudly displayed cleavage.
"Is it time yet?" Arya asked without noticing Lyra's dress as she and Jon entered the room with Ghost at their side.
"When Dacey and Alysane come for you, it will be time to go. We have something you ought to take with you on your journey to Bear Island." Lyra said as Jon revealed the short thin rapier sword. "I was waiting for the right time to give this to you. Mikken made this in secret. That is the only reason it took so long." Jon said.
"Be careful with that blade, Arya, and make sure you hold it properly. It's not a trinket or a toy." Lyra said as she showed Arya how to hold the sword by the hilt for ideal control and form. "It is no longsword and the edge is rather blunt. The real strength of this sword is for thrusting. When you are ready, we might see if you are fit enough for the longsword. "
"Jon, show her what Lyra and I worked on for Arya." Sansa said, catching Arya by surprise.
Jon revealed the scabbard for Arya's sword. Wolf's fur was sewn across and over the surface in the likeness of the scabbard which held Ice, the Valyrian greatsword of House Stark.
"Sansa and Lyra worked on the scabbard and the belt. Mikken forged the buckle." Jon said as he showed her the grey buckle with the engraved direwolf sigil in the middle.
"I love it." Arya said as she held the sword in both hands; her left hand closed on the hilt and the her right hand open to hold the blade. "This will change with you over time, Arya. Perhaps you will earn a pommel of your own or you will get a new sword. Whichever happens, there is one thing that remains the same."
"What is it?"
"You are the one who gets the credit and the blame for the blood drawn by it."
"Which is to say you should take care not to kill the wrong people." Jon said seriously.
Sansa helped to lighten the mood. "Have you thought of a name for your sword?"
Arya's hands have long felt the sting of the embroidery needle many times. The answer was simple enough.
"Needle." Arya spoke as she sheathed the sword in its scabbard.
Ser Garlan Tyrell was beyond upset when his father, Lord Mace Tyrell, in his oafish lack of logic and good sense, exiled Willas Tyrell to the North without aid from Highgarden as the price for turning his back on the Seven and the Reach to embrace the Old Gods.
Whether out of spite, his own vanity or as a slap to the face, Mace Tyrell then offered Willas the opportunity of returning home on the condition that he rededicate himself to the Faith of the Seven.
Garlan watched as his elder brother stood up with the aid of his cane and walked away from the dinner table. Their mother's pleas for Willas to change his mind were in vain. Though he was a learned man, Willas Tyrell also had a stubbornness about him. He would never give his father the satisfaction of having broken him.
Garlan sought out his elder brother and found him packing the few belongings that were truly his as well as picking his best horses, a flock of his choicest hawks and all his faithful hounds to go with him on his journey.
"Why are you going through with this madness?" Garlan asked. "There are other ways to make a statement than this."
"I'm sick of being kept in Highgarden and being called its heir while such antics are being played between our father and grandmother. He may be our father, Garlan, but I do not want anyone ever confusing me for a younger Mace Tyrell."
Garlan laughed. "Brother, even a blind man could tell you are leagues away from Mace Tyrell. Tell me true. What is it that compels you to pray before a weirwood tree in the godswood rather than at the alters in a sept?"
"I have found peace and clarity in the godswood. Those are things I have sorely needed. With that, there is a simplicity in the faith kept by the Northmen." Willas said as he patted his hounds tenderly. "Long ago, our family toiled the fields in servitude. Perhaps my hands need to know the grunt of hard work."
"Such an endeavor can not be accomplished by one man alone, even if that one man is you, Willas. You will need help and Father has already banned you from taking the farmers and gardeners in service to Highgarden."
"Then I will look to the farmers in the fields and the smallfolk. I will ask them to join me in my journey to the North." Willas spoke with a firm resolve in his voice.
"Good luck with that, Willas. Most of the smallfolk in the Reach stand in the Light of the Seven and have never known the winters above the Neck. Do you think any of them will cast down their plows, pack their belongings and leave their cozy summer homes in the Reach to join you out in the cold wilderness of the North?"
"Maybe not here but somewhere out there, I can find perhaps a handful of gardeners who will join me."
"I support you completely, Willas, but my hands were more fit to hold a sword than a plow. Leonette would not take well to the cold either." Garlan replied before taking one last chance to change his brother's mind. "If you are tired of being in Highgarden, you could go to the Stormlands and spend time with Margaery and Loras. There is no need to go so far as the North. "
"Garlan, you are my brother and I love you but you are wrong. There is a need for such a long journey. I shall take my hounds, horses and hawks with me as I journey to the North. I bred them myself. I raised them myself. They are mine. I will find refuge with House Manderly if they will have me."
"Leonette put together a basket of morsels for you. It is a long journey to the North and you ought to get your fill. Our mother and grandmother, Gods be good, will have both of us beaten thrice over if you were to starve." Garlan put the basket overstuffed with fruits, breads, vegetables and berries to Willas along with a cask of Arbor Gold.
"Safe travels, brother. May the Gods, Old and New, preserve you." Garlan said as he embraced Willas, who hugged him back.
The next day, with his hawks and hounds all traveling with him, as Willas kissed his mother goodbye, Lord Randyll Tarly arrived with his eldest son and made an astounding request. "Lord Willas Tyrell, while I do not agree with your decision to forsake the gods of your father and forefathers, I respect your decisions. It's not every Reachman who stands up on his own two feet to find his way in the world. If it is not out of your way, I ask that you take my son, Samwell, with you to see if he can be made an heir worthy of my name, lands and titles. If he fails to earn the privilege of bearing the Tarly name under your care, I ask that you send him to the Wall so he may take the black and forsake any claim to his inheritance."
"Lord Tarly, why would you cast out your first born son in such a way?" Willas asked though he was in a somewhat similar circumstance. "Samwell is a kind boy with a sharp mind but he has failed me as my heir. My second son, Dickon, is more fit to become Lord of Horn Hill than Samwell will ever be."
Willas looked to the sullen Samwell Tarly and called him over. When the boy was at his side, Willas spoke directly to him without looking once at Lord Randyll. "Samwell Tarly, the road before us will be long and arduous. The place we are going to will test us in more ways than one. Will you ride alongside me and aid me in my endeavors through it all?"
"I shall, my lord." Samwell spoke humbly.
Randyll Tarly did not even acknowledge his son or bid him farewell. He turned his back on Samwell, mounted his horse and rode away.
Samwell had only the few belongings he had and several books in his bags along with the clothes and cloak on his back.
"The North may be far away from all we ever knew but there is one thing I know for certain, Samwell Tarly."
"What is that, my lord?" Samwell asked.
"Adventure and excitement await beyond the horizon."
"If either of those are what my father made me endure, I would sooner take a small piece of land in the corner of the world where I could live out my days in peace and quiet."
Willas smiled kindly at Sam. "You are young. Give yourself a few years to live and those sentiments may change."
Loading his personal effects in the back of the wheelhouse, which held Willas's hounds and hawks as well as his belongings, Samwell climbed up to the front and sat at the right of Willas, who held the reins in his hands. At the rear of the wheelhouse were two mares, two cobs and two palfreys.
There was no crowd gathered to see them off or bid them farewell. Lady Alerie Tyrell could not bear to see her firstborn son leave and so she kept herself deep within the walls of Highgarden. Mace Tyrell did not want to acknowledge his son's departure.
Yet from the gardens that possessed a grand view to the east, the Queen of Thorns looked out and watched as her eldest grandson and the fat Tarly boy rode out onto the Rose Road.
"What is there in the North that makes you so eager to get there, if I may ask?" Samwell asked as they arrived at Blackwater Rush. They took time to pause and feed their horses as well as the hawks and hounds. Samwell immediately formed a bond with Willas Tyrell's dogs and petted them lovingly as they ate their fill.
"From this day on, you can ask whatever you wish, Sam. I can not promise I will have an answer to every question though." Willas answered as he checked the spokes and axles of the wheelhouse.
"In the North, I have been told tales of wild, uncivilized men who settle their disputes with sword and axe, of women who live in ways that are unbecoming of noble ladies and barren lands of ice and snow as far as from the Neck to the Wall. For a time in my childhood, I believed them. I do not think those tall tales are so believable anymore."
Before they could get back onto their journey, they were met by soldiers from the Stormlands, along with the Lord of Storm's End, Renly Baratheon. At the young lord's side was Willas's sister, the Golden Rose of Highgarden, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, and his youngest brother, Loras Tyrell. From the looks of it, he was Lord Renly's squire.
"Willas Tyrell, you have been the cause of quite an uproar among the smallfolk. They say a rose of Highgarden abandoned the Seven and his family. At first, I did not know what to make of it. Now I see it for myself."
"What do I owe this audience, Lord Renly?" Willas asked.
"My brother has chosen to hunt in the Stormlands this fine day. He's at a camp, relishing in his kill and soaking his tongue in Dornish Red. The news of your departure has not gone unnoticed by him in spite of how much he has drank. King Robert would like to see you before you continue on your way."
Willas knew that he could talk his way out of having to banter with Lord Renly but when it was King Robert who called him forward, he had no choice. He had to go meet with King Robert.
A/n: I have an idea of what to do with Samwell Tarly and Willas Tyrell. At the same time, I'm kind of on the fence about who to ship Willas Tyrell with.