It was quiet at first. A sweet summer day, the smell of fresh baked apple tarts and plum cakes, ripe apples and cherries, so inviting. They bit into an apple with satisfying crunch. It was so red it was near black and sweeter than honey. The sap dripped over their fingers.
As they turned to look at lake only fire greeted them. Thick smoke filled his lungs. Screams of dying men rose in a chorus of pain and horror. Smoke and fire. The Reach was burning. The apple orchards turned to ash. Golden grain became nothing but a memory. All was alight in flames. The Mander boiled and steamed, wailing and tossing like a dying man. Screams and pleas for mercy, begging for a swift death.
The fire licked at his hands. He screamed. They screamed. Heat. Fire. The blood was boiling inside their veins.
Sweat covered their body and drenched the sheets. They curled into a tight ball and breathed. In. Out. In. Out.
A knock on their door. "Yarrow?" asked a male voice. "You can come in!"
Uncle Andrew was a Rowan and looked like it: his hair was long and golden, his eyes summergreen. He was a young man, not even thirty, but the beard made him look older. Without the beard he had looked barely twenty. That's why he wore it. Trying to look older, more respected. As a second son he'd forever stand in his brothers shadow.
The man gave him one look, raised his eyebrow and said, "Wow. You look worse than yesterday." His tone was all false cheer. Yarrow snorted. "Good eyes, uncle."
Andrew stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Now, I am not your father – thank the seven – but do I need to be concerned?"
"Nothing to worry about."
"I won't press." Doubt was in his eyes. "'Wyn asked me to wake you. Don't forget your lessons!"
Yarrow groaned. Andrew snickered. "Oh, come on - they can't be that bad."
"Why did everyone had to name their child Aegon, Garth and Brandon? Or some kind of Jon."
"Ah, we do love to honour our ancestors. Just think about it, we could be both called Garth, or worse Garse – oh, do you think some will do Gartheon?"
"That sounds horrible."
"Gobert. Garthobert." They laughed. "Gojothor. Jobert."
"Find me in the yard later. I promised you that trick – if you don't want to wait another few weeks."
"I will."
Yarrow smiled. It was sweet to have someone just for them. Their smile fell. Andrew would leave on the morrow. He refused to take a child of barely eight years as squire, even if it was them. Understandable. Andrew was unmarried and childless by choice, traveling from tourney to tourney and living of the prizes. He came by often though, and missed his family more than he admitted, always visiting both Red Lake and Goldengrove.
They dressed in a green velvet doublet patterned with golden thread. The air had been warm in the last weeks, spring turning into summer. Good weather to swim in the lake. Porridge, boiled eggs, fruits and fresh fish were served as breakfast. The hour was early enough that they could make a detour before getting questioned on banners and history.
Red Lake Castle had two Septs. One of them was placed in the centre of a beautiful garden, roses and bellflowers border the stone path towards it, seven blooming cherry trees planted in a circle around the Sept, with seven white roses planted around the cherries. Seven, seven, seven. The number was everywhere. The Sept itself was white with windows of stained glass, flowers and candles placed within. Paintings of flora and fauna, of golden cranes and roses covered the walls. The entirety of it was a gleaming sign of devotion to the Seven and could compete with any other Sept in the Reach, other than of course the Starry Sept.
The second Sept was used by the family alone since the second sept had been build. It was an ancient place, build when a Lord Crane first converted to the Seven and it lacked the splendour of the new sept. Still, it had a charm, a sincerity that the new Sept lacked. Placed between the old godswood and the shore, it was encircled by an aspen grove. Flowers and herbs grew around the sept, yarrow and nettle, bear's claw and clover.
The true beauty though, Yarrow thought, came from the inside. The walls covered in murals of cranes standing guard over Red Lake and flying forth with winter, a young maiden standing at the shore. Seven might they be, but the Father was without a doubt Garth Greenhand, with his antlers and crown of flowers and vines. The Mother was plump woman with her arms overflowing with fruits and grains. Three candles sat before her. The Maiden was carved in the likeness of Rose, a birdlike touch to her features and feathers weaved into hair and dress. A fox sat at her side. The Warrior was far taller than all others, a sword held high and a shield of oak in his hands. The Crone guided the path with her lamp and the Smith had a hammer and a plow at his side. The Stranger held out a bony hand for them to take. An offering of forget-me-nots and poppies was placed at their feet.
They did not come here to pray. Yarrow pulled out an assortment of seeds and bread crumbs, placed them left to the Sept and waited. 'Quest: Become a skinchanger' was still in work. For months they had done this, coming as often as they could, pretending to either pray or play in the garden. A reputation as a pious child was not a bad one. Even if it was a half-truth.
Sparrows, blackbirds, blue tit and great tit alike, goldfinch and rarely a jay, all kinds of birds lived within the forest and visited them, most of all countless sparrow, not shy at all. Yarrow could sit down next to the feeding place and they would come and eat, however they could do no motion without them backing off.
How did one skinchange? It was the big question. Briar never had seemed to realize it. To be fair, who thought about frogs? They sighed. The sparrows sang their loud song, hopping around as balls of fluffy feathers. Very cute. Yet, what did staring at birds bring them? Happiness, sure, but they'd not seen through their eyes. A bond to a singular bird might work better, but they could not keep their flock apart even after weeks. Occasionally a crow visited them.
An brave bird hopped closer until it sat at their foot. Yarrow did not dare to move. It tilted its had in that birdlike fashion and flew onto the roof of the Sept. One of the pair of blue tits who had taken to build their nest into one of the cherry trees stole a seed and flew off. A blackbird, a female one, visited, yet was chased off by the chattering and chittering of the sparrows. Another sparrow hung upside down one of the trees, tugging at a branch with a greta deal of strength, only to nearly fall off in a fluttering of wings.
Five weeks ago, they dreamed of a pair of large grey, near blue, birds, dancing together. Yarrow had not seen such a bird at the lake. They had looked. Was it just another figment of their imagination? A dream, born out of their desperation to be a skinchanger?
The sound of footsteps pulled them out of their thoughts. Their flock flew away in one great motion of wings and chatter.
"I thought I would find you here, child." Lord Crane placed a hand on Yarrow's shoulder. "Come, walk with me."
The trees changed with every step, becoming older and untouched as they went deeper into the forest. The path was still clear cut, yet rarely touched. Wildflowers bloomed at the side. Moss grew thick over the oaken tree trunks and the air was wet. A rustling in the undershrub, a mouse peeked out between falling leaves and the faint sounds of a woodpecker echoed through the tree crowns.
"Do you know who my mother was?"
Yarrow needed a few seconds. Rowan, Oakheart – Blackwood. "Melantha Blackwood."
"Quite the high match. It became even higher with Betha marrying Aegon. Of course, my parents had been long married before - I was seven. It gave my father high hope. Oh, how he dreamed. Foolish dreams. Our history might be as old as any and we share blood with kings – but to dream of a throne of oak and a crown of flowers – foolish. He wanted a Tyrell or one of my cousins for me, yet in the end had to satisfy himself with Alanna."
Yarrow was quiet. The forest opened into a wide clearing, sunlight shining upon a field of flowers and in the centre, a tree, oh what a tree! - A weirwood tree, gnarly and old, roots covered in Ivy. On the lakeside, birch and pear trees grew, the green-blue of the lake visible through their leaves.
"My mother was a prideful woman and not at all happy to marry such a low lord." Lord Crane stopped in front of the weirwood tree. "She took her revenge in many many small ways." He sighed, as if remembering a painful memory. "Among them, was to teach all her children about her gods. She brought us here as often as she could, prayed to the gods and so did we."
"Did?"
Lord Crane smiled. "Did." He turned towards Yarrow. "A Lord of the Reach has to be a man of the Seven. We are in the heart of the faith and so we have carry it in our hearts – At least outwardly."
He moved towards the weirwood and placed his hand on it.
"I still pray here." It was a soft admission.
"Every Lord has their own vision for the future of their house. My father, me, your father, you – we all have different ideas, plans and wants for the future. United we are only in our desire to see our house bloom. Spread thy wings, fly far. Don't loose sight of what's on the earth."
He removed his hand from the weirwood. A rustle hushed through the tree crowns, the leaves whispered with the wind.
"Don't hinder the actions of your successor. It is far from your mind, I know, but one day you will pass on the mantle as well. I married Alanna because my father thought it was best for our house. I let your parents marry because your father thought it was best for our house. I will not decide who you shall marry – It will lay with your parents or you."
"I am still too young to marry." Yarrow was unsure what he wanted. They had no interest in marriage, now or ever, and if it went their way, Aspen would continue House Crane, not them.
"I know. I do not think I will see your wedding day." A wry smile was on his face. "I can hear the stranger calling, calling me with the voice of my wife and siblings."
Yarrow sniffled. It was not something they liked to think about. They grabbed their grandfathers hand and pressed themself against his side. He stroked their back, his hand was big and warm against them and they felt themself so small and young as if they were truly their age.