Honor & Fealty chapter 16
King Robert was once a man of great stature and build. The battles he fought in throughout the Rebellion that bore his name have all become legend. His war hammer, the same one that felled Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen in the Ruby Ford, was such that only Robert himself could lift it and wield it proficiently.
Women flocked to him by the droves and men aspired to be him.
That man had long since faded into folklore and legend.
The man who now sat on the Iron Throne as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm was a far cry from the conquering warrior known to some as the Demon of the Trident.
King Robert of the House Baratheon of King's Landing sat at a large table filled with all kinds of food and drink. It was a great hunt as he began devouring the spoils of it from the moment they were cooked and ready to serve. He was 15 years older with a corpulent belly barely hidden beneath his dark clothes though the dark beard with strands of grey hide his double chin. His boisterous spirit and insatiable appetites were weighed down by the crown on his head and the duties tied to it.
Renly Baratheon led Willas and Margaery Tyrell his eldest brother and announced them in place of his squire, Loras Tyrell.
While Margaery demonstrated patience laced with grace and civility in regards to Willas choosing a different faith, Loras was taken aback upon learning of Willas Tyrell renouncing the Seven and embracing the Gods held by the Northmen. If Lord Renly's decree that no animosity be shown among family while in his presence did not keep him in line, the Lord of Storm's End threatened the promise of knighthood made not so long ago and that did the trick.
Using his restraint and willpower to push his internal strife aside, Loras aided his elder brother down from his horse.
With Margaery aiding him, Willas Tyrell approached King Robert with an air of strength and resolve, his head held high and his eyes hardened.
"Your Grace. I'm honored to receive an invitation from you. To what do I owe this audience?" Willas asked eloquently as King Robert took a long pull from his chalice of Dornish Red.
King Robert looked at the exiled heir to Highgarden with a look that either read anger or suspicion. Silently, he motioned for Willas and Margaery to sit before him.
Upon sitting down, Willas and Margaery waited for the King to commence the discussion. "I do not like your father. He supported the long dead House Targaryen and launched a piss poor siege against Storm's End. I will never invite that fat oaf to sit in my Small Council. My squire has a better character than what Mace Tyrell will ever know for himself."
"Your Grace, for good or ill, we love our father dearly. Even then, I confess that I am inclined to agree with you wholeheartedly." Margaery said, her hand placed upon Willas's as an unspoken way of keeping their composure.
"My father has been led more by his gusto and desire for goodwill rather than by the skills and attributes known to led men to great heights and some others, present company especially included, to prominence. Alas, my father's antics have become quite tiresome. It was to this reason that I sought refuge in the Stormlands with my brother, Loras. Even the smallfolk would tell me how the sense inherited by a Stormlord is equal to the most learned man in the Citadel, especially a Stormlord of House Baratheon."
King Robert smiled beneath his beard and mustache momentarily. If there is a Tyrell with good sense, then the Gods may very well exist. "One hears many tales of your beauty and grace, Lady Margaery. If your father had a tenth of your skill, he might have made a half decent Warden of the South." King Robert said before turning his attention to the eldest son of Mace Tyrell. "You, on the other hand, are a different matter. There are those who have taken to calling you the Heathen of Highgarden, Tree Kneeler and the Cursed Flower. In the presence of the Gods, both Old and New, answer my questions true. Why would you, Willas Tyrell, cast away the gods of your father and house to embrace the Old Gods? Is this a delayed act of youthful rebellion? The Gods know I have had plenty of those in the days of my youth."
Willas tightened his grip on his cane as he gathered his thoughts together. "Your Grace, I am not my father. I may bear the name of Tyrell but I feel no pride when someone remarks that I am my father's son. I want to make it known to the entire Realm, from Dorne to the Wall, that I am not in any likeness to Mace Tyrell. As for which Gods I keep, actions speak louder than words. I learned that from your exploits in the Rebellion, which bears your name, Your Grace."
King Robert bellowed out a laugh and slammed his meaty fist on the table. "No wonder you left the Reach. Mace Tyrell would have been shown what a real leader is if either you or Margaery stayed in Highgarden."
While a myriad of ideas began to saturate and stir in King Robert's wine-pickled mind and plans began to form in Margaery's, Willas Tyrell was only thinking about getting back to his wheelhouse and continuing his journey to the North.
It was a tough farewell and it took many reassurances from Arya and Bran, though more the latter than the former, that it was not goodbye forever. Alysane, being the only one of the five Mormont sisters who was a mother, approached Lady Stark and promised her that Arya and Bran would be fostered on Bear Island for a year and that they would be protected fiercely.
Though it did nothing to dry her tears, Catelyn Stark believed Alysane though it made no sense to her why she did.
Brynden Tully held Catelyn in his arms as Arya and Bran along with Nymeria and Summer rode out of Winterfell with Alysane, Lyra, Jorelle, Lyanna, Sarea and Beron Mormont while soldiers loyal to House Stark provided additional protection.
Looking away from the East Gate, Catelyn saw Ned standing still with stoicism masking whatever emotions were boiling beneath the surface of his facade.
It angered her that he could be so calm while she was in emotional turmoil.
Then she felt a fire ignite in her blood when she saw Robb and Jon talking together with Dacey Mormont. Her misery turned into blind rage and it was only her uncle's embrace that kept her from doing something absolutely foolish. "Go to the Small Sept now. Pray to the Seven if you must. Remember that this is what Arya and Bran wanted. They made this decision for themselves." Brynden ordered.
The day went on as any other day but Catelyn was, if it was possible, more withdrawn from Ned.
Late at night, when everyone else was asleep, Brynden happened to catch a a glimpse of Dacey Mormont leading Robb, Sansa, Rickon and Jon Snow into the godswood with their direwolves. They would stay there for a long while. In the morning, Robb and Jon rose before the sun did and Dacey proceeded to run them hard around the entire perimeter of Winterfell.
Rodrik Cassel would later say that even he had never seen such a demanding commander since the days of his youth.
Dacey's training regimen involved teaching Robb and Jon not to look pretty while fighting but being lethal and effective when it came to battle against formidable enemies.
Brynden stuck around to balance out Dacey's offensive training with his defensive regimens.
Catelyn noticed this all and was of two minds in regards to her uncle teaching her son and Ned's bastard.
Robb was meant to be the Heir to Winterfell. There were many reasons why he would need the training and discipline. A part of her was somewhat thankful for it.
Jon was a bastard who would inherit nothing. In a part of her soul that she would not share even with the Seven, Catelyn had wished that some ill fate would befall Jon and she would not have to live with the evidence of her husband's infidelity in Winterfell.
Even after so many years, Catelyn remembered the image of that seven year old girl holding the two infants in her arms. Now that she was a woman grown and they were boys on the cusp of manhood, Dacey still loved Robb and Jon equally and held them closer than before. When they both were winded and feeling the brunt of her training, Dacey would pick them up, hug them and whisper something into their ears. What was said between them, only the Gods knew.
"Are you certain?" Mya asked as they rode through the Bloody Gate together. He loved horses while she loved mules.
"Yes. The Northern mountains may not be as grand as those in the Vale but they are such that you would enjoy them, Mya." Domeric Bolton replied. "This would go a long way in repaying my debt to you."
Mya smiled thinly. A year ago, Domeric thought to seek out his bastard brother, Ramsay Snow, and build a bond between them but Mya warned him against it.
Mya looked him straight in the eye and told him, "Your house is a damned one. That is to be sure if I were to only know you by your family's history. Whatever you did not inherit from your father, you can bet every gold dragon in a Lannister's pocket that your bastard brother did. It may sound strange that one bastard should speak such things about another person's kin but I really doubt he turned out like you."
Instead of going back to the North and finding Ramsay, thus winding up in an early grave, Domeric chose to stay one more year in the Vale with Mya Stone, who became his closest friend. He knew of her love for Mychel Redfort, who took Mya's virginity a few days before he was set to leave.
When the time came for his return to the North, Mya Stone and her mules rode out with Domeric Bolton. They stopped for a while in Lord Harroway's Town for the night.
As they stayed in a moderate yet well kept inn, Mya bathed herself to calm her nerves but when her hands reached her abdomen, she thought of Mychel and the likelihood that his seed was about to take hold within her womb and grow into a child.
Then the smell of blood filled her nose and the waters turning red was the tell tale sign.
Her Moon's Blood came. Mya Stone was not with child.
The next day, Domeric and Mya broke their fasts though he was surprised when she started the day with a large stein of ale. On the way out, they crossed paths with a well groomed man who leaned on a cane and a young, thick bodied boy of fifteen timid years. It didn't take long before they became fast friends.
Domeric instantly found a deep respect for Willas, who bred the finest horses in the Reach while becoming a friend with Samwell, who had just as keen a mind for histories and books as he did. Mya chose to join Tyrell, Tarly and Bolton for the prospect of adventure and excitement.
Willas told them of his journey and, as if moved by the Gods to do so, Domeric and Mya chose to join him and Sam.
Willas sought a nice place where he could tend crops and reap a bountiful harvest and say it was sown by his hand and not that of Mace Tyrell. He wanted to break away from his father's shadow and cast one of his own.
Mya fled out of fear and uncertainty but now she saw that the world was much more than rock and stone pathways. The land of opportunity and adventure lay there before her and she was going to take with both hands.
Samwell was cast out for being a craven and failing his father as the future heir to Horn Hill. The reputation of House Tarly was more important to Lord Randyll than the life of his first born son. Sam had no doubt that his father was counting on him meeting some untimely death in the North so that Dickon would be made heir to Horn Hill and Heartsbane. He did not know if he could ever be made brave but he had nowhere else to go and Willas Tyrell would need the aid of an able bodied young man in the days to come.
Domeric Bolton often wondered why his family was looked down upon by the other houses until he read the histories. The Red Kings of the Dreadfort had long feuded with the Kings of Winter, who everyone loved and looked up to. The Boltons were sadists and torture specialists. It was no surprise then that Lord Stark never invited any member of Ryswell, Dustin or Bolton to Winterfell for the celebration of the Winter Harvest. He wanted to break away from that gory and gruesome family history and reform House Bolton.
They stood at the crossroads, trying to figure out which road to take. Torrhen's Square was to the west, White Harbor to the east and Winterfell was straight up.
Domeric spoke up first. "I ought to not speak ill of my family but House Bolton is not known for their grand hospitality, Tyrell. Why don't we go to White Harbor? House Manderly will give us a better welcoming than my father."
"Are they going to take reservations against me for turning away from the Seven?" Willas asked.
"Not really. They have the Snowy Sept in town and a heart tree in their godswood." Domeric said.
Willas smiled before turning to Mya and Sam. "How about you two? Do you feel like eating fish for supper?"
"Of course. White Harbor's fame comes from their seafood or so I've heard." Sam said.
Mya smirked. "Sounds good. As long as nothing happens to my mules along the way."
And so they rode out to White Harbor together.
A/n: I have heard the incessant suggestion of Willas/Sansa but I already have Sansa slated to wed the Smalljon. There is someone else I have in mind for Willas and I think it will work out well enough. As for Domeric and Mya, I wanted to give the former a second chance and the latter a chance to be utilized in this story, especially since she unconsciously became friends with Sansa.